I'm reading about the Marshall Plan and Containment and all that sort of fun thing, and the Soviet foreign minister keeps showing up. His name is Molotov. I keep waiting for him to whip out a bottle of petrol with a burning rag stuffed in the neck and throw it at the Americans, but he never does. I'm quite disappointed.
Death comes for us all (a melodramatic haiku of retirement)
Alas! this blog is
no longer where it is at.
Onwards! (Back to home.)
guts and garters
It's all fun and games until someone loses molecular cohesion.
Sunday, June 30, 2002
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