Its like digging out from a blizzard of word salad surgery. I have yet to turn off subscriber notifications because when I started this little substack at the behest of a too tall glass of Lagavulin, I didn’t think I’d have more than 4 subscribers, and most of those would be family members.
Well, now I have FIFTY TWO SUBSCRIBERS and its like coming home to a house full of orphaned cats. What do I do with you people? Why are you here? What on earth made you a subscriber? Is it all Notes inspired mischief? Some type of April Fool’s prank gone amok? How do you play to an audience that you’ve never met? The stress is worse than being a stand up comedian at a funeral reception.
Help me out!
ps. Edited for astigmatism induced typos not caught by Roz in the control room.
This Is Ridonculous!
I had never read any of your writing before five minutes ago but, yes, I saw someone on Notes recommend it. I'm not sure what a Triple Lindy is but Uncle Arthur can't manage it, whatever it is. _He was never a very good skater._