Turn it to Eleven

Oy. It's mid-December. I think. It's been a bit of a haze. All I know is that I have an Art History exam tomorrow morning, then eight hours of work, then one day off, then a week of working two jobs, and then it's Christmas-week, and then BOXING DAY OF HELL and then that week before New Years and then quitting one job and diving into the next. I know that I'm tired, and my boss and coworkers are tired, and we're all very sick and tired of certain people on the payroll skipping the fuck out while we work our asses off.

Seriously. Of the boys at work? There's one with an actual ass. Jeans in that store must stay up by curvature in the front or something.

... nah. Tape. Has to be. Love the boys, I swear, but I'm seeing a trend of fashion, and that trend is bending over to lift things.

I also know that other people out in the world are having much harder days than I. I know that there's people who are depressed, discouraged, and fighting, and I'm stuck up here in the middle of semi-snowed Canada with little more than an imagination and some internet.

It gets some people through the day, I know. I wish I could be there, or even relatively closer in person to offer my typical, eloquent response to things of stress and worry, and just hug the ever-loving stuffing beads out of people... or at least lean on them in an affectionate way.

I can't be, and it sucks.

So I'm giving everyone here a present. Something I hope will make them smile like it makes me smile... like a six-year-old on a Saturday with a bowl of sugary cereal. Here.

I love that show.

And now, Art History review.