Not a lot going on around here this morning. I had to correct the previous sentence because it originally read "Not a lot going on around her this morning." Innocent typo or Freudian slip? You be the judge.
Anyway, I dreamed I beat Kid Rock to death with a baseball bat. (At least, I think it was a bat. Might've been a golf club.) He continued to be cocky and arrogant even after the first few blows, claiming to love the taste of his own blood as it cascaded down his face, but along bout the time he lost control of his bowels, he started wimpering. I kept hitting him anyway.
Of course, I in no way advocate this sort of thing. I can't control what visions my subconscious conjures in a dream state. However, if anyone deserves to be beaten to death, Kid Rock would be pretty high on the list. Others, like Nicholas Cage, would probably only receive a severe beating, though in Cage's case, he'd probably enjoy it.
I'm only mentioning this because I toured various newspapers this morning, and across the board, the news is so depressing I didn't even want to read it, much less write about it.
