And the marching band refused to yield

I am late in surfing the interwebz waves this chilly Saturday. I sorta slept in. The boy had a school thing very early, so I got up a little before five in the aye em to get him moving -- and stayed up until he left to keep him on schedule. As usual, he did not require any vocal cattle prodding, he is a responsible young man.  After he left I went back to bed and slept until just before 8:00.

After a  perusal of the paper, breakfast, and coffee, here I am bloggifying my boring life while Don McLean sings about pie and rye and levies and nonsense in the background.

It has been an exciting week in my little town.  We have had killers caught, shooters shot and there is a dick-waver on the loose. I am not surprised our newsworthy pervert failed to make n appearance Friday morning to point his tiny dick at unsuspecting school girls. Wind chills were below zero and a shriveled blue tally-whacker titillates no one. I can picture it. Shivering in the cold, our fearless flasher throws open his raincoat to a huddled group of elementary kids waiting at the bus stop.

"Look at that idiot", says Tina. "Hey Mister, aren't you cold? Where are your pants?"

Is that a Smurf hanging between your legs?" inquires Emily.

"Look, Dude's got no balls" laughs Mark.

I presume flashers are not looking for ridicule. I think we will not see the our man again until warm weather returns.