There we go. The internet and I do not always get along. Then again, the same could be said about my relationship with the mare.

Dang it, this stupid thing won’t upload my photo for some reason. Let’s try this again.

Not sure if this counts as cute, exactly, but here is my mare making a

“A thousand more Kellyanne Conways...” Looks like I’ve got my nightmare fuel for the day.

Just like pissing off the FBI. I’d say I wished he’d do the same to his Russian overlords, but they have too much information about, well, pissing.

My Ron hatred was fixed in stone when he was making shit up about their dragon escape from the bank in Book 7. This was after his dramatic, learn more about himself arc, and the actual facts were more than enough drama.

I’d never thought about it that way before. All the stars for you.

What about a result based on Russian meddling? Asking for a friend...

Stop giving me ideas for what I should do tonight.

I’m game. I’m not good-looking enough to attract supernatural activity. Then again, that probably means I’d end up dying for dramatic effect.

Trumpkins: not even capable of drawing decent cartoons.

Sorry, kids. Life is pain, work is miserable, and, when it comes to the odds of finding a position, forestry jobs rank right up there with unicorn husbandry. Best you can hope for is to find something that only kills you slowly.

You and me both. Though I have to admit I would hit that solely because he’s managed to cause this much pain to Rump.

Mike Pence: first person on Mars! Sure, there’s no way to bring him back, but he’d no longer have to worry about being alone with a woman who isn’t Mother.

Wait. So he’s skipping planned excursions because he can’t take a helicopter all the way to the top, can’t climb stairs without assistance, and saying things he wasn’t supposed to say about Islam because he’s “tired”? And it’s crickets from all those people who were worried about Hillary’s stamina....

If she had lived, I wonder if they would have let her take a picture mugging at the camera over his corpse.

Is there a German word for it? Because there darn well should be.

I had a stuffed lamb named....Lamb Lamb. However, I made up for this by having a doll named Piggy Boom.

If only it wasn’t the rule of law that’s basically nailed to the perch.

And *this* is why I damn well pay my own way on dates.