2004 has shat the last of it’s rancid guts out.  It’s over.  Expired.

Re-fucking-sult.

2005: I’m watching you carefully.  You have been warned.

There’s a toast I like at this time of year:

“May those that love us, love us.  And those that don’t love us, let God turn their hearts.  And if he cannot turn their hearts, let him turn their ankles, so we’ll know them by their limp.”

Happy New Year, everyone.

(And apologies to all at alexdecampi and davebushe‘s place.  I left in a small pile of pain, and getting home and wearing something, you know, comfortable became a bit of a priority.  And now I’m home, well, I’m discovering that I’m quite tired.  So I’ll see you all in the week.)