Nope, not flashing you one. I'm coming out and admitting that I am one. Braze-Aholic, that is. Hard core. Last thing I think about before I fall asleep, first thing on my mind when I wake up. It's all I can do to focus on my work and when the whistle blows, well, get the hell out of my way, cause I'm makin' a beeline to my torch.
Thing is, I've been paying attention to the Brad Thoma story.
Wish I'd have thought of it myself. But I'm thinking there's got to be more than one seat aboard the gravy train and that maybe I can parlay my own disability into a boarding pass.
To be honest, I don't have much of a scheme yet. Or any kind of one, to be a little more honest. But whatever it turns out to be, I'm pretty sure it's gonna end up in court. Which means that I will need some bloggy friends to testify that my BA affliction is real and that it dates at least all the way back to January 19, 2010.
So I can count on you, right?
Oh really. I thought we were tight. When the chips are down, you find out who you can count on.
Fine. Whatever. I can do this on my own. But me and Brad are gonna have some wild parties. Vegas showgirls on wind trainers. That's just the tip of the iceberg. It's gonna get totally outta hand.
And I don't do evite, so you're gonna be sprinting out to your sad little mailbox every damn day, desperately hoping that your invitation arrived. And USPS holidays will be your worst nightmare.