Hello? Is this thing on? O SHI- move the damn speaker away from the mic! Okay, that’s good. Right! Greetings from San Diego, California. There is a San Diego, Texas, but I know this isn’t it because my hair’s not big. And I don’t own any guns!

This blog will be about whatever captchas my interest at the time. It could be about the Coopers hawk that nailed a mourning dove in the yard. Or tales of my hairless rat, Scurvy Bill. Or my motorcycle, which just threw a rod that punched through the case and let all the oil out. It could be about my long-running battle with Scientology, corruption in the city, or you.

Yeah, you; you know who you are. The guy who tried to sneak out of the Morena Club with my motorcycle leathers. I might write about you. I think I heard your buddies call you Fluffy, ya thief. When I cockblocked you at the door, it was funny how you pretended to have picked up the wrong jacket, since YOU WERE SITTING ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM! Well, since I duel with a cult that actually trains people to lie effectively, I’d give your attempt a 1/10 for effort. Drunk and stupid is no way to go through life, son. Especially on two wheels. You are why bikes are called ‘donorcycles.’

Fact is, what we got right here is a mystery sandwich. You don’t know what you’re gonna get, because I don’t know what I’m gonna write.