I blame the late administration of caffeine on the fact that my phone appears to have been destroyed. Of course my clothes were soaked through so I took a quick shower and tossed the clothes into the washer only to ask myself some minutes later, "Where's my phone?" And I remembered it was in my pocket of the pants spinning and soaking.
When I first fished it out, it didn't work at all. Now I get a blank white screen and glowing buttons when I put the battery back in but no functionality. I suspect further drying will not help.
But, yes, I am happy about Proposition 8 and the Defence of Marriage Act being defeated. I hope to join my gay friends in swooping in on the now defenceless institution's soft white belly, tearing it asunder and feasting on its quivering wet pink bowels or whatever the worst nightmare of the right wing is. Maybe I'm spewing divisive politics here but, hey, I've been trying to control an indoors that suddenly felt like outdoors in Guatemala all morning.
Twitter Sonnet #521
Pterodactyl redactions dismiss fate.
Paper Rubik's Cube hats solve head colour.
Angry marinara eyes ever wait.
Banks hold bald Brazilian bats in squalor.
Balloon bottoms peruse sand dollar mud.
Croquet canyons are crushed by deep water.
Screeching time cops won't apprehend Paul Rudd.
The third grade air is thick with old solder.
Purple brain matter hugs Tsurumaki.
Furry curry's too long in the cupboard.
Dye bus terminals make hobos cocky.
Kare Kano corrodes L. Ron Hubbard.
Kitchen showers waylay the bean bucket.
Bubbled stucco's a symbol of "fuck it".