Hello, Mr. Moon. What are you doing up so late? You really shouldn't be here this morning, you're throwing me off. What's that? The man who lives on you threatened to inhabit you with other humans if you set? Yes, well, don't listen to him. He's just a pushy realtor, no one wants to live on you. Now, shew. Go on, skat!
If I had photo shop here, I would do something fun like erase the moon from the sky. Part of that God complex I was telling you about earlier. Wouldn't it be great if we could just photo shop the weather? You know, cut and paste some lovely storm clouds on a hot, sunny day? Or, if you're one of those sick people who don't want rain on your wedding day, just take your eraser and clean up the sky of all it's beautiful, foreboding clouds, leaving you with the hot yellow orb of death. Me, I had snow on my wedding day. I loved it. Joy, our photographer, was all sorts of upset. I guess my nose kept getting red, and to photographers (which I am not, despite my many fantasies and daydreams, but that's a story for another post) this is some sort photography faux pas. I mostly just wanted to make out with Brett, but apparently this wasn't the look she was going for, the "suck face look", as I like to call it; so instead I had to have a blanket wrapped around me and Brett had to keep blowing on my face and nose to lessen the red. All in all, she got some great pictures, and I eventually got to make out with Brett on top of a roller coaster in California, so all was good.
Thanks for stopping by for yet another pointless post. I am so tempted to start calling these P.P's. I figure, if I haven't lost you yet to my disgusting ways, this will probably push you over the edge. I do what I can for you, my three faithful readers. And thanks to my new visitors, Mrs. Fox, who shares the love/hate drama of horror movies with me, and Mable's House, who takes some fine pictures and can slap on the rhetoric with the best of them. Hi, and thanks for stopping by!