Howdy, Glibs and (mythical) Glibbettes. I hope your Monday has gone swimmingly and nobody is suffering a post-Mother’s Day hangover. I am definitely not, but damned if I feel like working. My oldest was “sick” today. His mother violated the cardinal rule — no physical symptoms, no staying home sick (I voted to send him, although he did wake up crying last night about his stomach. If he is completely faking, dude’s gonna be a great Method actor). As best we can tell he’s lactose intolerant but likes chocolate milk too much. Or else he’s got some rare disease I’m going to feel guilty about giving him shit about.

First up, I finally am starting to think the run-up in performance in mass-produced cars has gotten out of hand. Just kidding. An Opel couldn’t really go 400 MPH if you pushed it out the back of plane.

Alright, Florida Man! (And women) Caged tiger at prom causes uproar! These euphemisms are really getting out of hand. And it looks like its gonna rain all up on the taint side of Florida’s wang this week.

I wouldn’t say I gas-light my wife into thinking we’re poor, but I have suggested that maybe we don’t need new furniture as often as she would like, or that my work shoes can make it another six months. From the outside, it appears that maybe the ex-husband just lived very frugally himself. Not so frugal that he thought it was worth half the money he’d saved to stay married.