Fence, Schmence...

Facts, schmacts... You can use facts to prove anything that's even remotely true.

Simpsons digression...my bad.

And now, a dispatch from suburbia: Dan's Fence Gets Macked By Drunk Girl

Sorry Dan. Some drunken chick busts up your fence while on a run from the police, even down to three wheels at the time of final impact, and here you are, surveying the situation after a restaurant-dinner-interrupting phone call.

I should probably let you tell the story, since I don't know anything about it. Well, beyond ma's emails and stories and apparent court battles.

This post was supposed to be about how our new cat's destructo-matic nature pales in comparison, yet still induces the same kind of head-scratching moments where you find yourself saying to yourself, "Well... Shit."

Not firing on all cylinders this afternoon.

Also, I wanted to write "Fence, Schmence".

Also, do you remember that little cartoon book with the illustration of a picket fence labeled "Fence", and next to it just a solitary picket labeled "Fent"? For some reason that cartoon has been flashing in my brain ever since I heard about The Great Basswood Fence Macking That Didn't Involve A Moving Truck Driven By A Hairy Stoner.