The boys are fine ... The hub's fine too. By which I mean, Hartsfield–Jackson Atlanta International Airport, or ATL, the primary hub of Delta Airlines, is impressive. Considering how many flights come through there every hour, it's a wonder of efficiency and professionalism. It makes the passenger's layover practically enjoyable! ...Anyway, the boys asked about you, because they don't have a father.
Yeah, so, it seems that under certain, rarely used operating system/browser combinations (like Internet Explorer on Windows XP), after my redesign users attempting to leave a comment were instead taken to my PayPal donation page. No idea why this happened, but rest assured it was not attempt to extract revenue from my commentors. Should be fixed now. Sorry about that.
Mark Trail, 2/13/06
It’s troubling times in the soaps: Mary Worth has been reduced to thought-ballooning platitudes to herself; Rex Morgan has managed to make a plotline about war, drugs, and gambling boring. Therefore, it’s nice to see that, after a long time of losing his way, Mark Trail has finally delivered the goods. There’s been a lot of awesome stuff in this storyline — half-brother-on-half-sister leering, Mark naked and nippleless, a skinny bumpkin thrown to the pigs, a St. Bernard fighting an alligator — but this scene, in which our hillbilly triumvirate is brushed back with a lusty ZZIP! like so many inbred bowling pins, brings everything to a pinnacle that we won’t reach again for many moons, so take a moment to enjoy it now.
One Big Happy, 2/12/06
Yes, kids, it’s true: all those tchotchkes you bought your grandparents — all that crap you thought they treasured so much? Baloney. They didn’t want any of it, and only dragged it out when you came over to avoid hurting your feelings. And not because they actually cared about your feelings, but just because they knew you’d start squalling like a little baby, and if there’s one thing they earned by living through the Depression and fighting World War II and mortgaging themselves to the hilt to move to the suburbs and never once complaining when their kids started smoking dope and burning their bras, it was the right to not hear you cry, you little brat.
Also, those plastic-covered sofas in their living rooms? They had sex on those. Thus the plastic. Easy wipe-down.
My question for you in this One Big Happy: what exactly is Grandma doing on the computer in the rightmost panel of the second row? If it has something to do with a filthy, filthy browser history, my suspicions about life are all confirmed.