When You Have Nothing To Say... Add Pictures

Just in time for Easter, my tulips bloomed!

Of course, a few days after those pictures were taken we had a windy night and now all of the flowers are just bare stalks. I don't think they're coming back after three days, either. Oh well. They were pretty while they lasted.

Ripley says hello. Yes, there are no less than seven actual pet beds in the house and yet everyone must fight over the box. I'm sure there's a reason. Eventually Scooter will put an end to the strife by peeing on it, allowing me to get rid of the box with a clear conscience.

I'd have more to talk about, but it turns out that I missed all the excitement of the meth-head son of the people who live two doors down getting arrested at gunpoint last week. For the record, these are the people that complained to the city about my next door neighbors (legally) having chickens in their yard. I think perhaps they've been focusing on the wrong problems...

This Blog Is Making Me Rich!

Because I was bored deeply care about my blog, I googled "nebulopathy" today. Shockingly, the first thing returned was my actual blog. And then I found a bunch of sites that analyze blogs, which is where it got a little funny.

The first one said the blog had an estimated worth of $64,942.00. Let that sink in a minute. I mean, sure I started out updating this thing twice a week, but lately I've been lucky to write something once every couple of weeks. And let's face it, it's usually crap. But apparently it's still worth enough to keep me in cider and cat food for quite a while.

So I wrote my resignation letter ("Dear boss, I quit! Good luck with that Super Bowl stuff!"), but before I hit send, I looked at the next link:

Hm. $640.42. That's quite a bit different. Also, there are over twelve million blogs in the US that are better than mine. Unfortunately, that last detail convinces me that these people are probably not taking the same drugs as the first group.

Then I looked at the next link:

I mean, I live fairly frugally, but I can't survive on sixteen cents per month. Even Sally Struthers wouldn't be happy about that sort of help.

So, enjoy your week. I have to go to bed now so I can get up early and go to work tomorrow.

Damn you, Super Bowl!