Sore

I'm trying to get in the habit of writing something for this cat box at least once a day. It's a challenge to myself. It was supposed to start on Saturday, but I was sidetracked by something that could be subtly described as the most kick-ass birthday since the Virgin Mary squatted out Christ.

You might be wondering to yourself or asking someone near you, "What could be that kick-ass?" (Please sit down so and grab your skull with both hands, for this news might make you shit yourself whilst your head explodes.)

A Big Lebowski Birthday

It was so kick-ass that Walter even rolled on Shomer Shabbos. See?

So, as I was saying, I was supposed to write on Sunday, too. That was complicated by the fact that I had developed what shall be now called "Bowler's Butt". It could be described as a striking pain in the ass on the opposite side of the rolling arm and seems to strike people who have not bowled in many, many years. I don't think I was doing anything wrong. I have perfect form:

But Bowler's Butt is what I had, so I called my inner doctor and he prescribed Margaritas and Chicago Bears football. I'll write about the latter soon. In the meantime, spend some time viewing the photos from the divine night.