It seems that yours truly Betsy Roosh has been lifted up from the underground cellar into a whole new above-ground living hell of a box of a domicile. There still isn't much light in this dungeon, and Mittens scarcely has any room to run around the place is so damned cramnped (yes, "cramnped").
Bootsy Betsy is still a-knitting your precious national emblem here, toiling away with ever-so much trouble... Slaving as his master George W. looms over her every minute detail in prepartion of your damned falg (yes, "falg").Just thought I'd take this free minute -- I'd been tied up to a Catherine Wheel over the holidays as my punishment to Benjamin Franklin -- now that I finally have my 18th-century wi-fi hooked up again (up in here, up in here), to update you all dear readers on my whatsabouts.
The days tick by, the days tick by. And I'm running out of yarn.
It's a woman's life in the modern world... and a happy fucking New Year.
God bless the Germans.
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