Mantissa's Lazy New Year

Happy New Year, everyone. It's a barely-gray day here in Santa Banana, and nothing is happening. The Head Rodent is currently napping, so I've commandeered his computer for a quick spin around the neighborhood. Darkness and Light (the cats) are both sleeping beside me and their dual purring is like the erotic hum of a Tesla... The stockings are all stuffed with oranges and hang from the mantel, above the remains of last night's Auld Lang Syne blaze.

Last year about this time, in January 2019, I was deludedly trying to give away some imperfect books. That went over like the proverbial lead balloon, so my crystal balls says you won't see that "opportunity" again any time soon. The imperfections are now all gone.

Today, while lying around listlessly drinking absinthe, popping dexedrine, and smoking opium, I did manage to rouse myself for a few minutes. See! Here I am! I finally spiffed-up my profile photograph, as my Grandma Pansy suggested long ago. That is, I re-cropped the original and brightened it slightly to bring out the orange. We'll see if the change helps improve sales. (We have our doubts, and the Head Rodent isn't taking bets: 2019 was another shut-out year for SROP, the third one in a row.)

Sanguinity also says, "Hello, and welcome to the twenty-twenties, where hindsight is going to be perfect, even if the planet burns to a crisp under the yoke of vicious capitalist dictators." Oh, wait... She didn't say that out loud... Did she?

Abra cadabra and tizzly, too.