Blog pieces so old they smell like soldier socks. Enjoying your in~ternet cafe, girls?
Hey, I got that Dallas cricket thang going!! Cameron abusing his "selfie?"
From 11/23/13 NTSB!!
By the grace of God and
the inky indigo protection of Lil Wayne, tonight I’ve seen the inside of an old
St. Louis architecture home and have sworn to know the neighborhood and defend
it to the best of my ability. Regarding fat cats who own a home here, sister
said, “Don’t call him!” Gosh by golly, I guess I won’t. I’m told consorting
with HH’s ghost is the surest route to the loony bin, and namedropping
Hollywood names in St. Louis a close second, but if my family is not in that
mode, some BSW* with checkboxes and a clipboard can’t be.
Let us all race to the
Probate Court. Let’s not. Try that, and I may “Call the cops” on the Sheriff
Department Deputies (Always wanted to do that as a MHC/QMHP). I talk to myself
a lot, but probably not any more, as the air is going over my vocal cords in
St. Louis and I am not jumping off the spy jungle safari bus at Cord Avenue.
What was that 1960 clue from the uncles? “Don’t get off there! A lion will eat
you!” I wonder if any St. Louis library has that book about LOUIS GOEBEL. I
left a voice mail for the author in 2010, but he did not call back.
Did I just start my
eleventh screenplay? Better call BHR!**
*Bachelor’s in Social Work
**Behavioral Health
Response
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