Saints, souls and shmoldies
If you hang around Tabby’s Place for any length of time, you will unavoidably encounter the word “shmoldie.” Repeatedly. Inescapably. Inexplicably.
If you hang around Tabby’s Place for any length of time, you will unavoidably encounter the word “shmoldie.” Repeatedly. Inescapably. Inexplicably.
Summer is serious business. Its questions are timeless: Whatever happened to Frozfruit? Will the song of the summer be “Juice,” “Sucker” or “Old Town Road”? Where have all the kittens gone?
Let it never be said that May is monotone. Stuff went down this past month, kittens. Billy Ray Cyrus returned to the radio, achy-breaking all of our ears if not our spirits. The President of the United States of America presented a very large trophy to a very large man at the Grand Sumo tournament. […]
It’s not just her ear. It’s not just her past. It’s your very heart in the presence of Jaguar. They’re all a little shredded.