Letters from Kamp Krusty

One Step Ahead

So I'm "bad" at "blogging".  So what.

So I'm "supposed" to "post" "things" every now and then.  At least, that's what you expect.  But you see, I know exactly what you're expecting, so -- whammo -- I do the exact opposite. 

You think I'm going to have something to say, something of import?  Whap! -- I do nothing.  Just like that, I spring into inaction. 

You think, "Hey, Brant's probably not snorkeling off Key West, and he's certainly not then going to play accordion, in front of thousands, on stage at the request of Family Force Five.  That's something he's NOT doing."

Think again, naive one.

Think again.

Hope You're Proud of Yourself

Oh, Brant?  Yeah, he's faking that his "finger is hurt".  Yeah, that's Brant for you.  He gets lazy and doesn't post, and then blames on his allegedly "hurt finger".  Yeah.  That's Brant, all right, blah blah blah I'm better than Brant blah blah blah.

Interesting that you said all that stuff.  Because I went to the doctor yesterday, and they did one of those "X-rays" and my finger is BROKEN.*

Hope you're proud of yourself.  I broke my finger, and then went to breakfast, and then played guitar (trying to avoid especially painful "F" chords) with my friend Todd.  And I played the accordian the next day.  With a broken finger.

Brant's whining, blah baa baa.

Well you know what?  It hurts right now to hit the "shift" key.  I try not to start new sentences, because it hurts to capitalize.  Think about that.  Huh.

Hope you feel pretty good about yourself right now.  Punks.

* -- that picture there isn't of my finger, but of somebody else's broken finger, and mine probably looks pretty much like that, except it's a different finger and stuff.