i concour with you sist. . .thank the lord its not more than once a year. . .its so damnly ridiculous. . .
*looks at another bottle of tequila*
. . . .pretty. . .
__________________
Even if the morrow is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the dew that quenches the land
To spare the sands, the seas, the skies
I offer thee this silent sacrifice