Winds of Change...

I remember a time when I, a young boy with little else to do on a weekend afternoon, would walk out to the end of my driveway, take several deep breaths, raise my hands into the air, and proceed to conduct the wind. And unlike my bouts with Poseidon (see Games with the God of the Sea), this was no competition with a God. Once my hands were up, I was in control. No games this time. I was determined, and this was my practice, to change the course of the wind.

So you got her a bouquet?

When I was little, I used to think that flowers were the magickal houses where fairies were born. What else could make such a beautiful home? Fairies had their tiny fairy families, grew up until they were old enough to fly off and inhabit another plant, and then built a new flower palace somewhere else. There was no other explanation. It made absolute sense to me then.

Does he look like a bitch?!

This, dear readers, is Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction. If you’ve never seen this movie, go buy it now. Don’t rent it, don’t download it…buy it and own it. Payment is your punishment for having gone this long without experiencing a masterpiece.

Now in this movie, Mr. Jackson would have you believe that neither he, nor his boss, is a bitch.

As much as I respect this man (I mean…look at him), I think I have to disagree. He is one of the biggest bitches I’ve ever seen.

Hear me out, I have a theory...

A theory about shit.

“But Brogan!” you protest. “We already read your shit story. Revelations in a stall was hilarious and wonderful, but how full of shit can you really be?”

Plenty full. Sometimes my naturally blue eyes turn brown. Truth fact.