She turned the Big Four Five today,which she read somewhere is the Fudge birthday. Someone needs to get control of Wikipedia.
We're at a hunting camp in Georgia, where it is cicada season. Hunters everywhere, but their guns are so tiny! Really, we're alone on a great remote road. These bugs have been underground for thirteen years, long enough to be closeted. Be out, loud, and proud, you guys! I'll sleep when you're ... done talking. We drove up to I-20 to get some quiet.
But, guess who is nocturnal! And loves hunting camps! And can sing all night! And is looking for love! [Not a men's choir.] A whipoorwill. It would be great if the cicadas kept the birds awake all day, so we could ALL sleep tonight.
Some sputtering from the Duck just as we settled into our spot. Why would that start suddenly? Chugging and coughing. Ideas? We're a couple of miles down a dusty road, but nothing different otherwise.
[All obscenities are my own and are not the product of AutoCorrect.]