I’ve never had carpal tunnel surgery, but I did once have a dental implant. (Endless tale of the horrors of surgery and recovery) But I. . .I’m OK now. (Brave, gallant smile)

“How LONG does it take to make some damned cheese fries?”

I’m admiring the four-dimensional curves in the ear.

Help me remember: which are the dewlaps and which are the flews?

Blessings of the day to you, Mme. Bogg! Fenway is rightly looking apprehensive at the incorrectly-assembled bundle of wrinkles, feet and belly blotches.

Good thoughts tonight for the Old Gentleman and the Tough Guy. May Basset Heaven be filled with sunny places to sleep.

They were reaching to punch off the alarm clock, and just decided, “Oh, the hell with it.” Rested their jowls and went back to sleep, with the Morning Zoo yammering in the background.

Film Noir Fenway, complete with ominous shadows from the window shades.

As a couple of commenters have noted, Hobby Lobby and Mardel’s are run by evangelical Christians, not Mormons. Hobby Lobby has killed off independent hobby shops in the Oklahoma City area, if not elsewhere. It really annoys me to have to patronize these creeps if I want some model airplane paint (OK, I’m pretty much of a dork here), and I’m glad to see the getting a slap in the face from the Supremes on this issue.

Megan, if you use “gift” as a verb again, I’m going to come upside your head with a 13-inch cast iron skillet.

As always, Ross provides rigorous documentation (with numerous links to peer-reviewed demographic studies)for the trends he observes among Hispanics, unmarried Americans, secularists. A lesser journalist would have simply made assertions with no facts to support them. Oh, wait…

(Latin nerd uncloaks) I believe, TBoggus, the phrase is casus belli. (Latin nerd wraps toga around face, skulks away into the shadows of the Forum)

Are you sure that was from The Onion? The panel seemed more reasonable and dealt better with the issues than most I’ve seen on cable news.

Max the semi-greyhound does much the same. He loves getting a biscuit and being told he’s a good boy, but as for actually eating them–meh. We were unaware of his biscuit preservation until his brother Sam went to dog heaven a few months ago. Sam was apparently shaking Max down for all of his spare biscuits.

Any possibility you can step into the continuum of that Bradbury story and keep that dumbass from stepping on the butterfly? Then we wouldn’t be in this dystopian hellscape.

Thank you. It would be much appreciated. And, as long as you are passing through the swirling mists of time and space, please fix it so Kathy noticed my existence, and actually liked me, in eighth grade.

Lovely how the shadowline falls across the schnozz-freckles.

Well, the video shows conclusively that we can’t really blame the incompetent refs for the Packer’s loss. It was clearly the fault of Tearful Cheesette’s friend Megan, who made her wear the sparkly nail polish and the Clay Matthews jersey.

I’m imagining the music track as a trumpet transcription of “Yakety Sax, larghissimo to begin with, building to vivace.

It’s an honor to be the first of your “weird little internet friends” to join the celebration of your blogaversary, TBogg. I will now light the candle I have placed on this Hostess Cupcake, and pour some Virginia Gentleman bourbon into a Flintstones glass (got them with Welch’s grape jelly a few years ago), and let the revels begin.

Max the Dog who lives at our house (a semi-greyhound rescue mutt) is rather shy around strangers, and doesn’t like anyone messing with his feet. Fortunately, we have a groomer who does some kind of amazing Vulcan mind-meld with him, and he is so relaxed with her that she could probably do major surgery on him and he wouldn’t object. She is amazing!