No Ricotta Cheese

None at all.

Not the tiniest bit.

It was a mix of cottage cheese and parmesan.

At least, that's what ray said.

But it was still tasty.

Mmmmmmmmmm.

And I wasn't even hungry.

At all.

Not even the tiniest bit.

So now,

after dinner,

I'm going out into the FREEZING DAMN COLD

to fix my parents computer.

My parents live an hour away.

On the way I will listen to some childrens book I got.

From the library.

It's funny.

Hee-hee-hee.

When I finish I will come back home.

I live an hour away.

On the way I will listen to some childrens book I got.

It will still be from the library.

And it will still be FREEZING DAMN COLD outside.

Lucky for me I will be inside.

My car.

Toasty warm.

If I am smart.

Which I am not.

I will leave the car running.

While I fix.

The.

Computer.

Today I didn't work.

I felt like shit.

My head hurt when I looked at the computer screen.

So I did nothing all day.

Except watch rugby.

And eat the lasagna ray made.

Which I believe I mentioned.

Up yonder.

And talked to John about getting a house.

Near Commerce.

Which is half an hour away.

But is on ten acres.

And out in the country.

And has a really cool porch.

And if I went out and played my guitar.

Nobody would yell at me.

Ooh!

Ooh!

Ooh!

I have a pair of pink,

pig,

slippers.

I decided I would wear them if I was in the last group.

Of a frisbee golf tournament.

And the course didn't have.

Concrete tee pads.

So I took them to Charleston with me.

This weekend.

Because I hadn't played in 2 months.

And Charleston doesn't have.

Concrete tee pads.

And it was FREEZING DAMN COLD in Charleston.

So the fourth round.

I wore a pink pig slipper.

On my right hand.

As a mitten.

And because of that brave, honorable pig.

I played well.

And came back.

And cashed.

And it was very cool.

No, I mean it was very, very cold.

Cold, I say.

("Every time I'm tempted to use "very," I just use "damn," instead.
That way my editor takes it out and it's like it should've been in the
first place." -- mark twain. Who never wore. As far as I know.
Pink. Pig. Slippers.)

I'm going to go now.

[Editor's note:  I didn't write this for you.  I wrote this for a friend of mine who lives in the great white north.  And decided to put it here.  She doesn't know it's here, but that's ok because it was to her.  And it's been slightly edited. It's not like I wrote it here and then sent it to her.  Because that would suck.]

Doug's thoughts on nothing in particular