Feed a fever, starve a cold...

or is it starve the fever and feed the cold... I get all my home spun wisdom mixed up with techno trash (just four of these blue things and chase it down with some Jim Bean). The fear of aging isn't in the not being able to pick up the lady over there - it is in the fear of not being able to saunter over and tease her into taking your hook. Looking like dead wormed over and feeling like road kill that wasn't flattened enough by the first car, just doesn't put one in the mood to tango, sigh (actually one of those deep from the brisket tearing the lungs into the throat coughs) ugh! Finished two long naps, two gallons of honeyed lemon tea, video Last of the Mohicans, and going back to reading Fusiliers about the 23rd Royal Welsh in the American Revolution (we get to name it cause we won otherwise it might have been Adam's Rebellion). Or maybe Zulu Dawn would be work.