ROBIEWANKENOBIE

now, every february, the leon and the rwkn play this politically incorrect game. y'know, to celebrate the month of black history in stylee. everytime he do something annoying? the rwkn saith unto him, "sokay, leon, it's your month." and then we both snicker. and then the demands begin. "woman? make me some pie. it's my month, y'know!" which doesn't work (hey, the dude has had not one, but two different pies in the last few weeks...pity him not), but affords yet another priceless snickering moment.

tonight the leon and i were sitting 'round watching the nauseating "we like black people" superbowl ads that celebrated the first black head coach to be at a superbowl (actually, both of the coaches shared this distinction). cocacola loves the black peebles. the snack food industry loves the black peebles. and prince performs in an aunt jemima head scarf during the half-time show. what's not to love?

[shuddap. he made me. i mean, seriously, i could give three anteater farts about any superbowl that doesn't have any of that mighty fine buffalo bill action...but it's his month, you know.]

so. the leon turns to me and he says, says he...

l: hey, it's my month
r: *has forgotten, but nods*
l: i just realized why it's in february.
r: *humors him*
l: it's 'cause it's the shortest month.
"the man" wouldn't even give us a real month...

it might not seem like the longest month to him. but for me? i can tell it is going to be a doozy.

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now, to finish the soup. i have the steel cut oats in the crockpot with some currents and pecans, the vegetarian jello is already setting. i might whip up a few biscuits, but then i'm going to bed.