A Comey of Errors

After some consideration I fervently wish that FBI director James Comey gets a big pus-wart on his scrotum for his obvious partisan douchebaggery. A pus-wart the size of a small blender that hogs the covers and never wants to watch the same programs that he does. A pus-wart oblivious to its own body odor, which thinks drenching itself in Axe is ablution enough. A pus-wart that always leaves the empty milk carton in the fridge and never replaces the toilet-paper. A real science-denier pus-wart that oils its guns at PTA meetings and intentionally tries to run over small animals while driving to the methadone clinic.

Yes, that kind of pus-wart.

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While on my daily neighborhood stroll the other day I noticed that not one house in my Dallas suburb displayed one of those big orange annoying trash bags printed to look like a jack-o-lantern.

Then it occurred to me that it's still in the upper-80s here and all of the leaves are still on all the trees. This possibly has something to do with climate change and, as a result, I'm starting to get that Australian vibe of celebrating a winter holiday, like Xmas, in the height of summer.

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A friend was having trouble coming up with an idea for her office Halloween party so I suggested Dallas quarterback Tony Romo's fractured spine, as it's the topic of constant conversation down here. She took me up on it and here's the result. Click the thumbnail for a larger version.

=Lefty=