I’m just going back to bed, because nothing today throws at me will even come close to “like a bewildered gorilla mistaking a Barbie for its dead cub.” Except maybe the very next line where he compares stamp collecting to prostitution. 

I wrote that this morning and then Lane Pryce beat the shit out of Peter Cambell’s bitchface and it turns out that Ken Cosgrove is a secret science fiction writer. Best Sunday ever. 

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