Come Hither.

Travel to seaside Michigan.


You will discover in due course that I can't stand plenty of things. This also means that if you can claim to actually know me, you've survived and passed a vigorous vetting process that I administered without your knowledge and consent.

Here's something ;


I am obsessed with being obsessed about my obsession. And I have an obsession of constantly altering my obessions. I am terribly obsessed about having to worry about this obsession because I tend to over-obsess sometimes, and then I get all obsessed with worrying what the next obsession will be - what's it going be. And because I am so obsessed with worry, that the next obsession comes along, like a sudden hurricane. Of course, it gets pretty overwhelming most of the time. Maybe, just maybe, I am so obsessed with this final overwhelming obsession, that I don't mind being obsessed over the slightest obsession that could hit me anytime. This whole paragraph is just about me and my obsession. Why are you so obsessed with reading this obsessed paragraph of mine?

Indeed, you could clearly see how obsessed I am, with the word obsess. So much I bet the word 'obsess' seems aberrant to you right now. How right you are! Indeed, I am obsessed with word pun. And guess what? You just got PUN-ED.


What the fuck did I just say?




Aye, this nightshift thing is testing my concentration, really. So it's me versus Computer Screen. See who blink first. Now, please go away while I refocus my attention. Hey, how about a game of Hang-Man. Oh, you bet I'm good at that. Please? Please, pretty please? Pretty please with cherries on top? Cherries with tied stalks?



( The author of this blog has obviously lost her marbles. So, please, come back later. Thank you. )



Pun, what pun?