Oh, my stars and garters!

Holy crap!


Roone got chomped by a dog today. He was helping a woman install a doggie door for her border collie mix, and the stupid mutt latched onto his arm. (My sister: "Did you at least get a conciliatory blow job out of it?" Roone: "No.")

Roone wanted me to tell everyone it was a gunshot wound, but I think a dogbite is brutal enough. The picture doesn't do the wound justice; you could see the subcutaneous fat cells oozing through. To spare the squeamish, further details are here.

Yep. It was an exciting end to a dull day in which I did nothing but go to the park and avoid the second near-wreck in a week. (The first one would have been totally my fault, I admit, but what are you supposed to do at a corner where you can't see oncoming cars until you're about to be hit by one? If people didn't park their nine-foot-tall monstermobiles six fucking inches from the corner, blah, blah, self-righteous blah....)

Today's fun link is both courtesy and in honor of Roone. You should go look at it while I try to set a personal record for number of cigarettes smoked in nine hours.