Even the dogs are bored. Fitzy just said he wished I hadn't cut his balls off, so he'd at least have something to play with.
Instead of whining and wishing I'd get swine flu so at least I could be bored and have an excuse for assuming the fetal position midday, I'm supposed to be writing a few witty, upbeat, 15-second radio spots – but so far they wouldn't sell anything, except for maybe assisted suicide or a membership drive for the local chapter of Bored Alcoholics with Vitamin-D Deficiency Anonymous (or BAWVDDA).
I even emailed someone I haven't seen since I was about 7-years old and living in suburban Chicago. He must be bored shitless too, because he has about 60 vlogs on YouTube. A vlog, for the unenlightened, is a video blog for people who don't mind having their face distorted by a web cam, and are too bored, or possibly too medicated, to write. I think I had a sleepover at his house once, but faked a stomach ache so I could go home. He had an older sister, I wasn't a slut.