It's the end of days.

Okay, so it was the end of days. The end of all sorts of thingummies, really, this year and a half since I left home and hearth and moved to Stinkytown-by-the-Sea. So, yeah, it's been a while since I've banged out shit on this here page (and am pleasantly surprised that (i) this blog of mine hasn't atrophied; and (ii) people still have me on their feeds - huzzah).

Lots of muddy water has flown under the bridge these past several months, including:

(i) end of celibacy - I got married a couple of months back to Firefly (fellow blogger and havoc creator) - would love to put up pictures, but there's some truly grotesque topless ones of me (the wedding ceremony required me to be shirtless. A clothing mishap nearly ensured that I was bottomless too, but that's a story best left for a drunken night).

(ii) end of the 28 year wait - India won the Cricket World Cup - and a rocking final it was too. But had to miss out on the post game celebrations, since I had a bad case of the runs.

(iii) end of having to tell people I looked heavier 'cause I had heavy bones - I now have the flab to support the heavyweight title. Need to hit that jogging track pronto (Firefly is guffawing in the background. So is mu conscience. Shut up.)

(iv) End of using crappy phones. Now I have me a Blackberry (corporate whore) and an iPad (Mac-tard...ok, not just yet - I still love Windows, bugs n all). Though I must say, while the Pad is a brilliant device, I don't think it's ready for the heavy duty blogger just yet. Maybe for semi-blind Twits, er, Twitter users.

Anything else? Not really. Can't say much about work, because you never know when Big Momma, er, Big Brother, might be watching. Suffice it to say that it brings in lots of money, but leaves me drained and terribly unsatisfied at the end of the day. My kingdom for a life filled with stuffy courtrooms.

Time I hit the sack. Been a long day and a longer night on the job. See y'round folks.

On an aside - is 'end of days' grammatically correct?

Also- Twitterati, glitterati, chatterati, and're all just long ass words, wankers.

1,2,3...foxtrot, uncle, charlie, kilo...

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Hello World.
Crowley's back.
Armed with an iPad. This means I can blog on the fly. Allegedly.
Anyhow. Watch this space.
Live long and propagate.
Mr. C

3AM: Dude, do we qualify as 'harried'?
Crow: Nope. We qualify as 'suicidal'.

"Would you like to request a song?"

"Nah. They can't sing the ones I want to hear".

In fine, and yet, ab initio.