perfidy

Not literally, but figuratively. Spending three days in the presence of Buckethead is apparently like having your brain sucked out through a straw. Maybe it was the tequila. No, it was probably driving through Connecticut twice in four days.

Worse, I am feeling EXACTLY NO urge to opine, pontificate, conjecture, or fulminate. I know what a terrible burthen I do carry, to be the sole light in the darknefs in which ye readers live. But not to worry, ye unwashed, as I wait for my hortatorial and difsertative prowefs to return from the far reaches of nowhere in particular. Perhaps I can moralize in the interim.