Morning blogsters:

I did my best not to expect anything out there on the front porch this morning, but I sneaked around and expected some sort of weirdness anyway, I suppose.  Caught myself surrepticiously squinting around various places looking for clues that the bug I cleaned off the windshield yesterday was still intact, looking for some other windshield of mine to splatter itself across.

But despite my crafty examination of the dark terrain I couldn't find any buckets of blood laid out horizontal, any boobie traps, any nuthun much except Orion slipping off toward the west trying to stay ahead of the sun.

Hmmmm.

Been to the predictions page?  Take a look at this:

 Most everything else was $300 and less, but that's a lot of 100 dollar bills.  Those folks are cooking with gas.

 I hope all you blogsters are being nice back at your relatives today.  They don't mean nuthun in what they're saying and doing around you and about you.  They're just malignant personalities who have the same cancer of the soul we're all prone to have if we don't spend our lives working our arses off to excise it. 

Be vigilent, blogsters.  Shoot a lot of forgiveness and love out into those tumors you've chosen to spend the holidays with.  And be doubly careful not to listen to them when they're saying nasties about that old b*tch aunt of yours.

Jack