I've found a commercial almost as creepy as those thumb faces texting. It's the whiskers with the guy's face on every one of them on a shaver commercial. Ick!
The Very Special Chicken is no more. HH said he found it dead in the pen this morning. That thing better not have had Bird Flu! I'm not feeling so well. I picked up a cough on Thursday night. HH and the boys have been sick for a week, and they finally succeeded in their grand plan of infecting me. But back to the Very Special Chicken tragedy. HH has not yet broken the news to The Pony. As for the disposition of the remains, HH declared that he took it down in the woods, and that it is not in a sinkhole. Further questioning revealed that HH deposited The Very Special Chicken on the land that we bought from the LandStealer, on top of a brush pile. WTF? I don't know what's in that man's mind sometimes. How hard could it be to scoop out some soil, deposit the chicken, and cover it with stones? I suppose he is planning a grand funeral pyre one evening when he thinks we won't notice. Why would anybody put a dead chicken on top of a brush pile? How is it supposed to decay up there? HH. The Very Special Husband.
Groundhog Day is tomorrow. Happy Birthday to Mabel's son! Not that he's a groundhog or anything...that's just how to remember his birthday. I don't know about Punxsutawney Phil, but I think we're going to have six more week of winter.
I also predict the Cardinals win the Super Bowl.
It's not like I can edit posts to make my predictions 100% correct.
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