Friday’s are notoriously no-weather days, meaning come Thursday night the ‘human could really give a damn what the Weatherbox says, meaning I’m too busy trying to get out of the office to write anything important or intellectual.
So I’ll leave you with this thought: The best part of waking up is not, as they claim, Folger’s in your cup, but rather acknowledging that you just survived a lengthy hallucination during which your eyes went more googly than a drunken sailor walking the length of a seesaw.

Friday’s Forecast: The ‘human blacks out from exhaustion and curiosity.