Call your bookie.

Two down, one hundred thirty-six more to go.  That gets me through to January 1st.  What are the odds I make it?  Is anyone taking bets?  I've got an insider source that puts it at 4:1 against.  In other words, don't bet the house.  I'm not.

So, a post for Friday a.m. getting written on Thursday p.m.  Sounds about right.  Why no, I haven't learned anything from past behavior.  Well, for the Ramble anyway.  Some of life's lessons stuck with me much longer, and some after one instance of exposure, others; not so much.  Yes, the next time I use one of these I will most certainly let go of the washcloth before the damn thing eats my fingers.

I'm almost certain that I'll never join the Navy, nor any other branch of the service again.  Almost, not entirely though.  Science could be on the verge of age reversing regenerative treatments, brain transplants and cloning.

I'm also not likely to start smoking again, touch wood, (not that I'm the superstitious type or anything), though in the event of a global pandemic or should NASA announce an extinction level cosmic event I'll probably indulge again. 

I'm in no mood to lead the cops on another high speed chase from Oklahoma to Mexico without going through Texas, only to be cornered and find the bottom of Grand Canyon.  Wait, Never mind.  That was Thelma and Louise not me.  I always get those confused. 

Three down, one hundred and thirty-five to go.

Always, Thanks.

See you on Monday, I presume...Peace...