I Just Bought Ned's Atomic Dustbin For The Third And Last Time.

So right. I may be a pissy cunt, but I try, and possibly often fail, to not be outwardly cruel. I truly do.

I mean I thought I was quick and clever. I mean figured out that Big Sad Girl's engagement was a fiction, a sham, a big imaginary not really so much. Like unicorns or New Zealand. But I at least have the decency not to question her, Perry Mason style, like my co-mammals did. 

I was breathless. It was unspeakable. Ghastly. And desperately sad. Because BSG answered all the questions, down to what type of identification her and her fictitious spouse would have to produce. She apparently anticipated the widespread and indecent incredulity. researched it, predicted the obvious questions, but instead of saying "Wait? Do you fucking not believe me dicks?", she just submitted to the mock cross-examination. Nauseating on so many levels.

I've careened into a place where standards are low, manners are irrelevant, but the pay is decent. I'm also equidistant to all three downtown Farmer's Markets, but, but not being a superficial gypsy bobo, I don't so much give a shit about that. 

Homeostasis maintained.