When you die in the service of Sandwich Control, you have a name. And his name is Robert Paulson.

Now, bury him in the garden. Bitch tits and all.

Yesterday was a day that was weird. It was like I watched the day go by through a foggy window of a car. But the windows were my eyes and the car was drowsiness. And then we, a couple of the exchangers and I, watched movies and ate pizza and ice cream. We watched a strange mix of movies, too. Goblet of Fire and Fight Club. I had some ‘splaining to do.

West Brom tied Aston Villa 2up. At least we didn’t lose. Next week against Everton is going to be a rough one if we don’t pull our shit together.

Today, we are having archery bright and early. Then, possibly hang out with Teacher Sis. And tonight Pathfinder. But I haven’t had time to plan everyone’s lives today, so I can’t be sure what we’re doing yet. I’m sure it will unfold regardless of planning, so yeah.

Tomorrow, remind me to tell you about the Holy Ghost.

I’m off to shoot stuff. More soon. ~SC