Half-Baked

What if, instead of just one orange rubber frisbee, we had orange rubber frisbees all over the goddamned yard? Christ, that would be glorious.

Or if the Bald Man let me bring my rawhide outside so I could bury it. And then dig it up. And then bury it. And then dig it up. And then bury it. And then dig it up. And then bury it. And then dig it up. And then bury it. And then dig it up. And then bury it. And then dig it up.

Was that a chipmunk??

Anyway, when the sun hits me like this, I come up with all kinds of great ideas. I work best under these conditions, in an altered state of near meltedness. It’s like my brain slows down enough to really think clearly. The only thing I could use is a stinky spot in the grass to rub my neck in.