Ah, and here we see the white-breasted North American deplorable. If you listen, you’ll hear him utter his cry of “womp womp”.

A helpful gentleman on the street mumbled an offer/threat to chop off my busted leg. He was dressed in scrubs, so he might just be equipped to do it.

So if we just constantly play the national anthem around Donald Trump, at least that one hand on his heart will be too occupied for any pussy grabbing.

“These Beautiful women should proudly compete in the Swimsuit Competition, Bikinis on, in honor of the great men and women of our military and the people of our country.”

Someone actually asked to take a picture of my peg leg. The only thing worse would be asking to take a picture WITH my peg leg.

Friends, if you seek unwanted attention and desire to have the same conversation over and over again, follow this simple plan. First, break your foot. Next, acquire a peg leg. Finally, attend a massive open-air comedy and music festival in the heart of San Francisco.

More bright side of my broken foot: In addition to needing to pack half the socks for this trip, I also only needed to pack right shoes.

Sure, my foot is broken, but you have to look at the bright side. Because I’m only wearing one sock a day, my laundry is cut in half!

I’m lying on my deck (literally on the floor of my deck because the furniture is covered for the winter), soaking up some sun. I thought about how nice this felt, and then I remembered it was February 21, and it shouldn’t be 70 degrees.

So now I feel like shit again.

I kind of like this idea that when I go to bed, the government shuts down too. Then when I wake up, it’s just booting back up. Really, what’s the point in having a functioning government running 24 hours a day? That just seems wasteful!

If Marcus Mariota doesn’t start his post-game press conference with “There’s no “I” in “team”, but there is one in “Mariota”, which is why I threw a touchdown to myself.”, well, he’ll have missed a golden opportunity.

Probably the best thing about adopting a highway compared to adopting a kid is that when you’re sick of it after a year, you can just give it back.

Apparently, I was PART OF the group selected as Time Magazine’s “Man (Person) of the Year,” for 2006. Part of is no good, so I’ll take a pass. Thanks anyway!

I got a spam email pitching me on a flight simulator game. The subject was “You be the pilot”, which is now my new real-life flying nightmare.