Could we have chilies for breakfast, mummy dear oh mummy dear?

There’s nothing like habaneros for breakfast.

Beats the crap out of last night’s tequila hangover. Though I have to admit, it’s sort of worth the hangover when you’re sippin’ $50 tequila that comes in a faux-animal-skin covered bottle.

Interestingly, the tequila in question has a name that means either “Three Women” or “Three Wives” (I’ve heard both translations). I’ll let readers do the math on how that might apply, though I can say that the number may be only a rough count.

C, how’s that? Writing, not thinking. I’m better the other way.

Anyway, yes. habaneros. Habaneros and cheese, in this case, on toasted home-made wheat bread. And very strong peets.

This is a way to start the day which will hold the Superbowl (As if I care, the fucking Pats vs. the fucking Panthers, I mean, *please*. The real superbowl was played a couple weeks ago, the Colts lost. Wait for next year, we’ll have something good, like (just go with me here, ok?) the 49ers vs. the Dolphins again. Hey, it could happen.

And then there’s Survivor. Go Lex! Go Richard Hatch! Go – well, I dunno, there’s debate about this now – maybe go Rupert, maybe not. But let’s all tune in for Lex anyhow, and to see Rich is his new Survival Kilt made by my good friends at the Utilikilts company. And if you think Mister Hatch looks good in a kilt, you should see me in one!

Ok. Here’s where I should write about writing. There are topics to be covered. But maybe after the sun gets over the yard-arm and I can have me a cup ‘o the grog (or as it happens, mojitos or minted mai-tais depending on who’s tending bar this eve), then I’ll have more profound thoughts. For now, let’s stick with thoughts of kilts and grog and a better super bowl next year.