These are the pointless ramblings that would take too long to post at www.biffmitchell.com. None of them are important and you really don't want to read any of this, so go away. Read somebody else's damn blog.
I think I pushed a little too hard over the weekend. My legs said: "We're leaving you, Biff. We're going where the tough get beer and watch TV."
Damn legs.
I have a feeling they didn't quite recover after the canoe mishap.
They just don't make legs like they used to.
They get today off. Tomorrow - pain.
posted by Biff at 9:01 p.m.
Biff Mitchell lives at the edge of the world. He has no life. He has no friends. Neighborhood children throw stones at his hovel. At night, Biff throws stones at his hovel. Someday Biff plans to write a book about a man who lives in a hovel that is stoned daily by neighborhood children who—through some magical twist of events—turn into snowmen. When Spring arrives, the man’s house melts.
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