I feel sorry for today's kids. With caller ID and IP addresses and whatnot, they will never know the thirty seconds of soul-less joy that comes with prank-calling someone in the middle of the night.
This morning, Reggie squatted over, and pooped on, a crushed, wet cowboy
hat, and nothing in the world could've been more effective at conveying my feelings
about the past two weeks in this city.
You'll never see so many people visibly mulling over the intricacies of the "eating is not cheating" theory as you will during the ten days of the Calgary Stampede.
