The Horror.

I've been a bad blogger. I admit it. It's just that the holiday season has taken my muse and treated her like Becky in that Kenny Rogers classic 'The Coward of the County'. That is as delicately as I can put it. What passes for clientele at the midpriced family friendly chain restaurant I work at has shown us their even less attractive side of late, what with all the rush and bother of deliberating between Nascar or wrestling pajamas at the Wal Mart across the street and their failure to anticipate just how long they were going to have to wait for a table on nights when they and their entire extended clan decide to descend upon us at the same time without bothering to let us know the magnitude of the invasion we would have to endure by making a simple phone call on the way. My muse lies, violated and dazed in a quiet corner of my subconscious wondering how long she can remain undetected by the nargles and assorted creatures from the Dungeons & Dragons Monster Manual that roam freely down there. I have nothing at all to say.

Except.

People that eat country fried steak are what is wrong with the world.