I can only take so much New York before I want to kill myself and others, which meant a sweet and swift ride home on the Acela was in order this evening. Sure, it was an extra $30, but it was worth it. Anything was worth it to be back where I belong. It would have been a heavenly ride with lots of leg room if it hadn't been for Mr. Incessant Talker sitting in front of me. I didn't know a human being could talk for three hours without stopping, but I'm here to testify, people. Next time, I'm sitting in the f-ing quiet car.
Bygones. I'm home now, and to honor my glorious and triumphant return, I give you a JP blog: 12 Frogs. Not 11 frogs, no. Not 13 frogs, nope. 12. He's been going for four years now, so don't mess with his cake. Also, he's godless and going to hell for his laundry habits. (Aren't we all?) To make this blog perfect, what else do you need? Sick Joss Whedon love. My work here is done.
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