The abode where JCK resides might well have become known as The House of Farts had there been any witnesses outside JCK's own tribe. Tremendously fumy farts. Casa Fartus de Motherscribe it should be called. Tis' true. Imagine if you will, 3 flatulence bearers. BOY gets a pass as his odorous phase has now ...well, passed. With 3 other rootin tootin TOOTERS to take his place. The plague has thrown open the door and left, but his black cape tails are trailing behind breaking much wind. My GOD, the aroma. Perhaps best if social engagements are cancelled for another day.
In other news...JCK is happily ensconced in her bed with luscious red lap top atop her. Not to be confused with what is underneath...a his and hers dual control...heated blanket. Such indulgence. Such luxury. Hers for the taking. One might think a heated blanket would be unnecessary in Southern California, but remember it is really a desert and the nights are cool.
So, JCK lies amidst plump pillows that are not her breasts, and much fur that is..thank the Goddess, not belonging to JCK but to her cat...A feline who loves to follow JCK, and has been pawing back through memory lane to the days when JCK actually lay abed and read books. Said feline was not too saddened when JCK writhed and moaned on the bed recently due to foul illness, because...after all, JCK was upon the bed.
All felines being equal, we are here at the end of the trail...NaBloPoMo: writing 30 posts in 30 days for the month of November. A challenge JCK thought she was up for, but really wasn't. Yet, she did it. Through dramas, illness, and the tedium of forcing words across a page that didn't want to be written. It's JackO'Clock by GOD!!
***JCK acknowledges that not all questions proposed by her readers were addressed. JCK begs indulgence and patience on the part of her readers. The questions will be answered. In time...all in good time.
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