Holy [proverbial] ball sweat, it's been a while since I've put my helper horse Sven to work hoofing out some words for this blog. BUT WE'RE BACK. Kind of. Not on the reg. See, I've been too busy whoring my grammatical prowess out for money (FINALLY!) to work for free over here like a sucker. But truth be told, I've missed The Anti DC. This is and will forever be my e-home, well, at least as long as I live in DC, which at this point seems like it might be forever. *GASP* *COUGH* *COUGH* *COUGH* Well, until the rampant smell of ass, which seems to permeate every breath I take these days here, kills me.
Come on, you know what I'm talking about. This stench in the air this summer... It's that smell that tends to usually come when you're walking outside and a garbage truck rolls by leaving the sent of Satan's butthole behind. The problem I've noticed lately, however, is that this exists randomly and often. Like, I could be biking down P Street, not a garbage truck in sight, when *BLARGH!* there it is. And it's so pungent that I fear the only cure is shoving a couple of pipe bomb up my nostrils to blow up my olfactory system. Either that or become a house cat...
