If I can count your ribs, you're sickly.
 

you know, I understand the desire of an old sock to change his persona sometimes, but we already have a bilmore, or we will when he comes back.

The Not Bob phone just rang -- apparently, I have to depose Fugee next week.
 

And while I am on my way there, I will need something to read. Any suggestions? I'm not interested in any non-fiction that has anything to do with any events after 1980. With respect to fiction, my taste is pretty eclectic, though I am not usually a fan of stuff that is too high-fallutin. In other words, no Umberto Eco, Toni Morrison, Thomas Pynchon, or Mickey Spillane.

The Not Bob phone just rang -- apparently, I have to depose Fugee next week.
 

The Devil Wore Prada? :-)

If I can count your ribs, you're sickly.
 

Not really. And someone thinks he's a meanie. I don't know if he's the Blue kind or not.

If I can count your ribs, you're sickly.
 

Shut the fuck up, you stupid fucking asshole.

If I can count your ribs, you're sickly.
 

That is a band.

If I can count your ribs, you're sickly.
 

Not for Pink. Apparently they believe that if you're picky enough to expect your shirt to fit both the neck and sleeves, you'd do better to go with bespoke.

The Not Bob phone just rang -- apparently, I have to depose Fugee next week.
 

Hi NB! *wave*

Fuuuckk
 

On the way to work this morning I broke a fluorescent light bulb in my car. It was in the car so I could buy a replacement and be sure to have the right size. I forgot it was there and moved the seat back. Apparently I have now been exposed to toxic mercury vapor. This is great, because all the fillings in my mouth haven't already poisoned me (and my child) for life. I try not to get alarmed about this kind of thing, but I seriously haven't been feeling well since I got to work (and before I did a "fluorescent bulb toxic" google search).

I'm not really sure what to do about the car. You're supposed to wear a mask and gloves to clean this stuff up. And I'm still nursing. Do we have any toxic waste experts out there? I won't do any more googling because there's a lot of alarmist shit on the internets, but I really don't want to expose my daughter to anything unnecessarily.

If I can count your ribs, you're sickly.
 

Yes. Most shirts come in a broad range of sleeve lengths for each neck size. Pink has a narrower range of sleeve sizes for each neck size, apparently not believing men might have neck muscle. Or fat, if you're not being charitable a la flower.

If I can count your ribs, you're sickly.
 

yelling rant in response to constructive criticism? good choice. It seems Mr. Rimslicker is gone for good.

The Not Bob phone just rang -- apparently, I have to depose Fugee next week.
 

Carl Hiaasen's last book, Skinny Dip, is now out in paperback. I enjoyed it muchly.

If I can count your ribs, you're sickly.
 

I'm not really that much a stickler for grammar, but this abomination even makes my head hurt.

If I can count your ribs, you're sickly.
 

How derivative.

If I can count your ribs, you're sickly.
 

Okay, guess I really wasn't paying attention. Well, welcome to the world of women's wear (though my one Pink shirt fits right).