The Ghost Of Billy Crystal

Have you ever woken up with your tongue welded to the roof of your mouth, your guts rumbling like you've had someone attempt to extract information you don't posess by pumping concentrated grapefruit juice into you, and your head rattling constantly like when you can't get the last tic tac out of the box?

No? - Well you've never been on a weekend long stag party in England then. But more on that later.

I awoke (or regained consciousness, same difference I expect) this morning (and I use the term 'morning' somewhat liberally) to find that dorky dad has awarded me, with something.

I don't understand what it is, I don't understand what I should do, but I do know that I've been so overcome by emotion at this selfless act of generosity that I sobbed myself back to sleep.

So I would like to thank my over-sexed and under-educated-in-family -planning parents for being drunk enough, often enough to have me and bring me to this moment. But mostly I must thank Dorky Dad, who is witty, funny, handsome, and has the balls to let his wife contribute to his blog. Go read, now. Well, not now exactly, but when I'm finished.

I promise to figure out what it all means just as soon as I have enough functioning brain cells to spare, they are currently all being utilised to keep my feeble carcas functioning. I do know that it means I made him smile, and I hope not in a 'I really need to get to a bathroom soon' or 'if you don't shut up quite soon I'm going to bite one of your fat little fingers' kind of way.

Have a look, ain't it Purdy ?

If I haven't slept-driven myself into a canal on the way home I may just share the gory details of the weekend that's passed...

NOW, you can go read Dorky Dad.