For you, the dress code is casual.

Saturday, August 19, 2006


I ate breakfast at around 10:30. Since then I have worked, cycled just over 25km, had to run back downtown on my scoot to grab something, bought groceries (and end-of-season blooberries)and NOW I am about to make dinner. The grill is heating up. I've had no lunch. It's amazing I haven't torn some of the zombies' heads off I've seen walking around town today and scarfed their zombie noggins for a snack.

(Seriously, there are zombies walking around town. Everyone's been made up to look like zombies with blood drooling down their faces and such... pretty fucking cool, actually, and I've yet to learn why. Some gathering at the Art Gallery. When Fat Boy doesn't beckon, I'll investigate.)

Yeah. You heard me. Fat Boy. I have named my steak. He is Fat Boy, and tonight is his unlucky night. I am grilling with a fuckin' vengeance, baby!

Die, Fat Boy, die! (A medium-rare death.)