The Dog Days of Summer.

These must be the dog days.
I have no idea why their called that. I suppose I could Google it but I'm too lazy.
My wife is at the CNE today with her friend Sharyl. I would rather have hot coal rubbed on my eyeballs.
I haven't been to the CNE in years but Randee loves it for reason's I can't explain.
The whole place smells like a giant fart to me.

So, the other chicks I live with, aged 12 and 9, are taking me back to school shopping at Sherway.
Why I agreed to this should be a warning to you other Fathers of Daughters out there. In a moment of Daddy-weakness I said yes.
Now I'll be dragged in and out of little-Girl stores all day looking for "Tops" and "Hair-bands" and other chick-junk. The only saving grace is the odd Hot Mom sighting. And the inevitable after-shopping ice cream.

I have no job. I have no job prospects.
I have a couple of things that are getting close and I am anxious to be able to tell you. Some of my pals that read this drivel every day know what I'm talking about but I'd like to be able to tell you Hhdotcom Regular Readers.
I will say that the one thing that's about to close is one of those long shots that could be huge. Or not.
It is it's exciting.
It's not Radio.
Right now Radio seems like something I use to do and I'm not sure I'll do again.
Who knows.
Maybe I should have gone to the CNE and tried to get a gig at the Whack-a-Mole booth.
I would if the whole place didn't smell like ass.