Did you hear about the Riverdale expose? Neither did I and here's he reason: it's minutia. Everywhere there's activity happening and somewhere, some lady is deciding what to project to you, if you let her. It's all meaningful but meaningless. Vivian going to a high rise panty means something to Josh but I'm zoomed in on the Alzheimer's test and strutting around because my ding-a-ling is crescendoed on the return of the refs and are you gonna please me tonight? Closed circuits keep the outrageous disclosures from global distribution but insiders know when Master is pounding his own pud. Lately, the urge to cure cancer has been cutting in on my vista fixation, meaning somewhere there's a Razor scooter with my name on it. The Archimedes principle in my Mom's amniotic fluid allowed early floating and I've continued it ever since. Even when my third grade teacher nicknamed me Teeth, I floated above the insult and focused on genitalia instead of the cursive alphabet. I attribute that early attention to standing at attention as the reason to this day never have I taken the eye off the ball. If I were a dump truck, I'd go backwards just to hear the beep. This entire diversion is made possible because the news loses.

But Bardot is 78 today - J'aimerais te connaitre.