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.
PS ... this is what happens to writers in Winter. It's actually normal. Well ... maybe not.
posted by Biff at 11:41 a.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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