It's best to be honest about it.
I'm hungover.
"It's not my fault", to quote Madison Lingenfelter.
I think it's Dani Sadowski's ... I mean Wesoloski. I married them last night. Afterwards, alcohol was a factor but it wasn't the only one.
Sarah and I danced a lot and that's always intoxicating.
The Beloved Dawgs of Georgia won but barely (though looking at the score this morning ... we kicked their asses!).
The other dogs ... Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, were busted again yesterday.
The police showed up and gave us a summons to go court ... again.
Apparently they have big parties whenever Sarah and I take a walk around the block or go off island. They don't bark while we're here but evidently raise holy hell when we're gone. So the Tybee Island Police Department launched a major investigation dedicating four different officers to the case. All I can say is that it's very difficult harboring criminals who are so sly they only bark when we're gone.
Goddess doesn't seem to give a shit. Winston, the little gay dog, is already planning what he's going to wear to court.
I saw the Tybee Coyote this morning. He was strolling down 13th Street as I was driving home from The Breakfast Club. It's confusing to me because I didn't think he existed but he evidently does. I suppose the Tybee Island Police Department has officers dedicated to the case.
On the upside, Jenny O approached Sarah and I about going to Key West for Christmas. It was funny because Sarah and I were talking about that earlier in the day. Such things make you believe in God.
I gotta go.
The towel on my head is cold and I need to put hot water on it.
The sun has come up and my sun glasses don't seem to be working as good as they did in the dark.
I'm afraid Sarah's dead in bed and need to go check on her.
I just have one question ... which leg do I move first ... and how?
