This is going to sound really freaky but there is a little bit of heaven, brought down from above and placed upon the sands of time of terra firma. Ok, maybe that should be terra-incognito. It doesn’t matter which way the white boy’s bread is sliced because in either case I love a good amount of buttering.
I suppose it could be said that buttering the rails helps the medicine go down but there are times when like a plumped stuffed goose, the feeding tube is jammed down the throat ‘till it hits home and the stuffing begins. “It’s for your own good.” Mother Goose cries. ‘Mother’ obviously doesn’t get out and about very much or very often.
I don’t know how to break this news, gentle or not, but a network does exist here on this planet. I’m not saying much else on that at the moment but be assured the subject is far from being dead and buried.
Thanks for reading but this is more of just a testing beacon to determine extent and range than it is anything else. Don’t let the lead-in fool you because it’s never about the bread-crumbs.
But I do confess that my butter is my cheese.