One Is Just As Horrific As The Other

I don't mean to rub it in for a certain unretired loyal reader who is basking in togetherness with her very own PITA at this very moment. However...it sure is nice and peaceful with Farmer H away!

There's a dearth of new material, though. The good stuff I save for my not-as-secret blog. This one gets the leavin's. Or the too-personal stuff that should be read by very few. Don't go thinkin' you're gonna get personal secrets tonight. No siree, Bob! You're getting a Farmer H flashback.

YOU KNOW WHAT? THERE'S NO PICTURE, THANKS TO WHATEVER OUTDATED PAINT PROGRAM OR BARE BONES SOMETHING-OR-OTHER I HAVE ON THIS CONFOUNDED MICROSOFT WINDOWS COMPUTER THAT THOSE FOREIGNERS ARE ALWAYS CALLING ME ABOUT! SO JUST PRETEND YOU CAN SEE MY MAGNIFICENT PHOTO, WHICH IS NOT ACCEPTABLE TO BLOGGER FOR SOME REASON, EVEN THOUGH I CAN COPY AND PASTE IT AT WILL IN MY OWN DOCUMENTS.

See this horrific sight? I was trying to get all fancy in Paint. Like that time I expertly blacked out the license plate of T-Hoe. It was a bit of a fail this time. My point was to show that I could draw arrows to draw attention to certain parts of certain pictures. I don't think I'll be trying that any time soon. All I've succeeded in is drawing attention to my bad arrow-drawing. Seriously! I thought there was a little part you clicked in Paint that filled in the lines. Not MY lines, apparently. So I tried to color in my arrows, like I did that license plate. Another fail. Thank the Gummi Mary, I figured out how to use the eraser part of Paint. Because that white area resembled something that was not quite an arrow.

Anyhoo...from the dark kitchen of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, you see the horror of what Farmer H leaves behind. He had requested Sloppy Joes for his supper. I don't know if I've made Sloppy Joes more than once or twice since we've been married. It's not rocket science. You use your manual can opener (the only kind found in the Hillbilly family kitchen) and take the lid off a can of Manwich. Pour that into a skillet where you've fried some loose hamburger, making sure to soak up the grease with stale bread to give your dogs for their evening snack on the front porch.

I'm shocked, really, that I don't have my own cooking show on the Food Network.

OR MY OWN HOW-TO YOUTUBE CHANNEL FOR POSTING PICTURES ON BLOGGER.

My point here is that I made Farmer H his Sloppy Joes, and sliced a pickle as he requested, and even diced his onion so it wouldn't make the Joes any sloppier. But what I found later was evidence of Sloppy Farmer. Did he really think I was going to use this plate again for something? Is he so lazy that he couldn't turn and take two steps and put the plate in the wastebasket under the counter?

Can you believe that Farmer H could not be bothered to throw away the paper plate I used to lay the spoon on after stirring?

That's a rhetorical question. I KNOW you all know the answer.

Especially you, Unretired Loyal Reader Basking in Togetherness with Your Very Own PITA.

AHA! Gotcha! Better late than never, I guess.