(The subject line is absolutely intended to be merely a noise. Rest assured.)

So because I used up all of my fun photos on that last mish-mash of a post, I’ve got nothing to really spark a new entry. Instead, I’ll leave you all with a [what I find to be] mildly amusing text message conversation between an old friend and I. (What can I say? I’m grasping at straws, here. Running on empty. SCRAPING THE BOTTOM OF THE BARREL.):
Friend: How were the Starburst?

Me: Anticlimactic. The red ones were way tangier than I remembered.

F: Bizarre. Bad batch?

M: Doubtful. I think I’m just more of a Twizzlers girl.

F: Then we’re breaking up.

M: And so began the divided politics of the United States.

F: We can work through this!

M: Yes We Can. (I’ll be here all week, try the veal.)

F: Heyo! What else do I need to know before our union?

M: Once, with this shotgun, in Reno…

F: Do tell…

M: Just to watch him die. Ok. It’s really bedtime. I will expect a witty msg by the am, though, drunky.

F: I’m not drunk, sadly. Let’s date. It’ll help us avoid dating in general.

M: Wayyy too weird. But we can be really excellent wingmen. Or women. I know how sensitive you are about gender equity.

F: Oh, I sure am. This doesn’t help us avoid dating, though…

M: We could just… avoid it. Concentrate on organic farming, or something.

F: I’m not into organic farming. At all.

M: Well, sleep on it. We can reconvene in the daylight hours.

The lesson to be learned? Organic farming is truly the go-to solution for all ailments. Truly.