I started Sunday at the Church parking lot in the Bloodmobile where one of my fellow parishioners said he’d told the computer questionnaire he’d had a tatoo because he was laughing at my singing to the nurse who was out front drawing my blood.
No wonder I was in a rotten mood later when our trunk or treat began. Here I am holding Staypuff at bay. Slimer ran away every time I pointed my ecto plasma gun at him.
Our neighbors in the spot next to us were not amused.
The Force had left them.
It was just not a day to edit and proof read old posts. Maybe later this week.
