I've been living without electricity all summer, and, golly... so many things have happened.

In June my step-nephew Brandon contracted Legionnaire's disease after a spirited match of tiddily winks. He lost control of every sphincter in his body and I personally nursed him back to health with nutrient-rich casseroles. He died.

Roy Corpustle also died in July. He was my favorite country western star. 60 Minutes ran a brief expose on the controversial songwriter. Here's an excerpt from the transcript:

CORPUSTLE: "The first time I exposed my little baby nuts on Hee Haw, something clicked. It made it past the censors and I felt like the fuckin' pope."
60 MINUTES: "Were there any repercussions?"
CORPUSTLE: "Does the pope shit in the woods?"

I'm so back-logged on news. I understand hurricane Irene is building in strength. My prayers are exclusively with the wealthy land-owners near the shore and I urge everyone to preemptively donate to the Committee For Missing Millionaires. Every dollar makes a difference, but if you're seriously only going to donate a few dollars then don't even bother. It won't make a difference.

August was another difficult month, but I finally got a chance to frolic in a meadow with my girlfriend, Buttons. She found a spot where a deer had flattened the weeds, so we sat there and took a bunch of Brandon's pills and, for the first time in my life, I felt like I was in control of my sphincters.

In September I finally got my electricity turned on and I've been playing catch-up ever since. So thanks to everyone for bearing with me during this dry spell. Things are looking better and I miss writing things down. Talk to you soon. God Bless.

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