I figured since I intend to eventually make this blog more public, I should probably sensor everyone’s real names. Thus I am assigning all my friends and comrades with nicknames randomly pulled out of my ass. I don’t want any lawsuits.

I decided to stay in tonight, much to my surprise. I came home from a busy day at work just craving a beer. I drank one bottle and fell into a sleepy stupor… my body practically melted into the couch cushions and I had to be pried out with the promise of Pizza Surprise Dip. Bob, JagerBomb and (insert nickname not yet conjured) came over to watch Love, Actually which I loved, actually.

I’ve been reading The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame, and questioning its validity as a children’s book. I don’t know… I was a fairly advanced reader as a child, but I can’t imagine ever picking my way through this book. Were kids from Great British naturally more inclined to languages back in the day? I can practically see them sitting in the parlour, wearing their fancy dresses and suits, sipping tea and discussing the home fashions of the Mole and the Rat.

I also realize that while reading the book, my inner narrator takes on the personality of a middle-aged British man. I find it at least ten times more enjoyable to read the book while using a man’s English accent to dictate the story in my head… ironically, since Grahame is from Scotland.

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