A poem

Here is a poem I wrote when I was 8 and spent several hours sitting on my rump in my neighbor Shelly's wading pool.  I was wearing my dance leotard and didn't change into a swimsuit because, duh, the leotard LOOKED just like a swimsuit.  You will note this poem is an acrostic.  High artistry, right here.

"Butt Rash"

Butt rash is red.
Usually feels dead.
Totally crummy.
Taking energy out of your tummy.

Raking over your butt.
Always making you feel like you're stuck in a rut.
She or he, it will make you flee.
Happening of it will make you say, "Oh gee!"

Fin.

I got a new Twitter follower

Here he is:

How in holy hell did this person find me?!

What's up?

Hey y'all.  What's up?

Not too much is up with me.  Just sitting, chilling.  Being a sloth.

Sleepy Sam Speak

It's been a while, but Sam provided me with some very quality sleepy speak the other morning when I bid him adieu. 

Me: Bye, I'm going to work!
Sam: I wish we had a puppy.
Me: Really?  What kind of puppy?
Sam: The kind that's good for playing.
Me: What would you name it?
Sam: Either Business, or Excited!

I plan to hold him to this conversation.  We are going to get a Corgi named Business and a Basset Hound named Excited:

I hope this means he'll stop talking about wanting a cat.

I got a new computer!

The very first thing I Googled on it was "Channing Tatum's dog's name."  Please send help.