Something stinks here and I'm not just talking about at the end of the driveway.
Oh... and then the town officials suddenly decided to take away my one claim to fame, the misspelled road sign:
F-R-A-N-L-K-I-N...is now F-R-A-N-K-L-I-N.
Oh the horror, the horror.
No warning to prepare, no letter of apology in the mailbox. No, "I'm sorry for the mistake and thank you for pointing that out in your blog and sending us 100 letters reminding us to fix it." Nope, none of that. Just some midnight run with Mag-lights. The hum of rechargeable drills biting through the frigid air. Zip. Zip. "Shhhh, it never happened."
Now I have to correct the incorrection after redoing the correction. New business cards for all! Have to call the credit card companies, utilities...
"Yes, I know I just changed it from F-R-A-N-K-L-I-N to F-R-A-N-L-K-I-N but I had no warning, really. You want the outrageously high cable bill to reach me, right?"
Wait a minute, hold on now (insert epiphany here) Maybe this is why I haven't heard from the editor. Yes! That's it. It's the road sign! The mail is not reaching the correct destination. It's being returned. That's why I haven't heard anything for six months! The damn road sign!
But I digress... I haven't written a blog post for months and all because I've been trying to put my mind at ease over two questions that have haunted me since back in December when I traipsed through the mall Ch****mas shopping (If you are wondering why I wrote Ch****mas instead of the complete word, see previous blog post).
I have questions, perhaps someone out there can provide the answers? Place my mind at ease? Help me get back on track and break through this writer's block?
#1) Please explain the existence of the following merchandise displayed for purchase:
There must be a reason, I'm sure. Someone tell me....
#2) And what about these?
KISS Pandas? Please explain.
Until I find the answers to the questions that plague me, until my road sign returns to F-R-A-N-L-K-I-N, I fear all is lost. I may never write again. I may just pine away in the corner of the garage, rocking gently in the fetal position. Wasting away, melting, melting... At least until Boardwalk Empire starts up next season.