In which I challenge my reader to think of a StarWars™ run.
You asked for more knockers on Gruts, and I am happy to oblige.
Googie Withers, RIP.
(I'm here all week, folks.)
Conversation about the census.
A rather poor pun about the Pontiff.
This evening, I shall go through the yearly ritual of strangling three chickens and slitting the throat of a goat to appease the gods and ward off the evil Halloween spirits.
I wonder what women use to protect their lips in this chilly weather.