Wondering if I just type a paragraph of stuff? Then wondering what happpens next? I don't remember ever having to screw around with this stuff. So on and so on, son.
That would have been the top set of paragraphs. Then this is a longer paragraph, starting with the para and ending with the graph. I'm presently grapling with what I used to do as a GIVEN now sort of a cranky old dishtowel.
And if that ain't not nothing, I'd hate to see something. 'Cause if I saw something, I'd cry, "That ain't not nothing, it is manifestly something! Amen? Amen? Can I get a hale and hardy Amen, or are you all just a bunch of reprobates and maybe even robobates. If you're 'bating with a robot in charge, beware, the business you lose might be a business that doesn't register on the Wall Street Top 5.
So I march along, getting my blog post an ever-expanding nature. I'm not worried about anything, except it is somewhat discouraging. What I used to do like instinct, now I'm given to meticulous wondering. Not an overjoyed fellow, but, hey, who gives a rat's patootie anyway? Except the rat, and we haven't cared what rats think all these years. I'm of course sympathetic to all creatures, but I'd rather rats worried about their own challenges and merely left me alone. But I'm INURRED to that slate of events, which may have gone out of fashion.
And there we are, rallying with our old family back at the old family place, Grandpa as the head of the place. (Keeping it to himself that he himself was once a baby like us. Imagine that, Baby Grandpa, my Grandpa as a baby. They hooked a diaper to his lower quarters and checked it throughout the day. The old people smiling and laughing that he's called Grandpa, when, of course from their perspective THEY'RE the grandpas and he's still an infant. These things are mind-blowing.