First off, Teh 'Dad:
He's doing much better and he so appreciates your expressions of concern that he's made all of you honorary Catholics — you know, like Shakespeare1. As I've explained elsewhere, Teh 'Dad was granted this special power to give Catholic Field Commissions during Vatican II. (I think it was a rider on the Bill that made it legal to say the Mass in the vernacular.)
Anyroad, it seems Teh 'Dad is suffering from nothing more than a common UTI; and he may go home as soon as today.
When I got there to visit with him yesterday afternoon, he'd just finished his lunch — all except for this ginormous bowl of peas.
"You're looking especially tall today," sez Teh 'Dad as I entered the room tall-ly.
"You better eat those peas if you wanna grow up to be like me, then," I sez.
"O, I don't want to be like you!" quoth Teh tiny tiny tiny 'D.
See? He's fine, because he can still make me cry within three lines of "friendly" dialog.
A certain Sand-Based-South-Joisey Piney-Dwelling Missionary-Munching2 Pretender to Teh Hoarder Throne is apparently having a difficult time conceding defeat to Teh Pile Queen Known As Teh 'Bride.
I didn't want to have to break out the Big Guns, but here you go:
WELL IT'S STILL FUCKING THERE! Right by our shed. Teh 'Bride has conceded that it is beyond reclamation now (in my view, it always was) but ... there on our property it remains to this very day!
So, again, Pretender to Teh Throne, I say EAT IT!1! Eat it as if it were a tender Mormon Missionary3! When it comes to hoarding/piles, Teh 'Bride has no match!
Today is St. Paddy's Day and St. P. is credited with driving all the snakes out of Ireland. But this is not, strictly speaking, true because when it comes (that what she said!) to trouser snakes, we Irish are still — shall we say — pretty well-endowed.
Nice try, though, St. Pat!
5.4-mile run this morning with — finally — a decent pace. 8:48. And by "decent", I mean "decent for my slow @$$."
1 Yeah, and believe me, it'll be easier for all concerned if you just accept this "honor", whether you be Greek Orthodox Apostate, Grouchy Low-Church Rapture-Awaiting Protestant, Beaver-Animal-Spirit Worshiping Kanadian, First-Cousin-Fucking Snake-Handler, or Boiled-Missionary-Eating Fauxlipina Heathen ("Here, try some Mormon!1! They're nearly hairless and sooooooo tasty — especially the tenderloin!"), because, man, you thought Teh Mafia made offers you can't refuse? Teh 'Dad is worried about your immortal soul, so really, don't eff with him and his one-time offer of Eternal Salvation.
You do wanna be with Shakespeare when you die, right? Be careful, then, because you could end up going to the place where Christopher Marlowe is spending eternity1a!
1a Teh 'Dad's rebuttal of Teh Marlowe-Never-Died-And-He-Was-Really-Shakespeare "theory": "Pffffftt!"
2 Yeah, I know "missionary-munching" sounds like some variation on a Vatican-approved sex position, but it's not.
Or should I say "not .... yet".
3 But eat around Teh Latter-Day Taints because no amount of boiling makes them taste like anything other than taint.