So here' this funny little thing... Blog Friends, meet Porcine Heart Valve... Porcine Heart Valve meet Blog Friends.
Now Blog Friends, I know that you're all decent and reasonable folk, and you would never judge someone based on appearance alone, but having said that, I realize that Mr. Heart Valve here isn't much of a looker. In fact, he sort of resembles a crude football tee wearing a dress made out of a tube sock.
Nossir... looks are not the issue at hand.
To be honest, I have, orchestrated this entire situation (the seemingly random and unexpected, i.e. 'chance', meeting) for the sole purpose of spending as much time, and using as many words, as is humanly possible, to simply say this: my mother had open-heart surgery today. And now. I languish in the waiting room while she sleeps. And I am bored. So I am typing these excessive strings of bull-pucky to amuse myself.
Whoops. Should probably mention that everything went very very smooth with the surgery. My mom's doing super. In fact, last time I was in her room, she was expressing her displeasure at sporting a breathing tube by attempting to gouge passing nurses with her toe-nails. Fortunately casualties were minimal.
For those of you who don't know, my mother is Veeflower, the woman who likes to get into my comment section and spread lies about me being some sort of saint, and thereby ruining my street cred. Another thing you may not realize is that potential purchasers of robot servants are charged according to a sliding scale. And yup, you guessed it - it's all based on street cred. So because this woman persists in saying such nice things about me all the time, I will soon be paying top dollar to staff my writer's fortress. I'll have barely enough treasure leftover to purchase the necessary stores of Guinness.
And what kind of fool builds a castle without a Guinness cellar?
One last thing: Thanks to Ms Carrie Harris, I found myself, at long last, sucked into the whole Facebook phenomena. I spent a good part of my down time here in the waiting room fiddling with the thing, seeking out new worlds and new life forms. So if you're a Facebook participant, and I haven't yet discovered you, leave your ID in the comments and I'll make you my friend. Unless you don't want to be. In which case, you might express that instead, preferably with insults and obsceneties -- so that I know how you really feel about me.