Blurzerb, zert, guglug

Between the gas and oil fumes emanating from Bill and the grinding of my overworked brain, I'm more than a bit fried.

I grapple (I so wanted to type "scrapple" there — while living in Pennsylvania a friend once asked a deli counter woman what scrapple was. She replied, "Well, it's ... uh ... scrapple." Warning enough, no?) with common words and have to think really hard to get them out.

I can't even muster a witty twitter this morning. And I have no pithy repartee on the Rock of Love Reunion show yesterday — despite the fact that seeing Heather grab Daisy's weave and punch her in the head over and over was beyond awesome.

Gah, I becoming ... slow and dull ... shoot me now.