Blogger

Any resemblance, real or fictional, to actual bloggers, is strictly fictive:

The racket from the football game drowned everything out except for Carl’s loud snore. It would not be wise to wake him and stop the snoring; the tirade it would generate would not be worthwhile. Besides, this is the most sleep he gets. Carl is up all night drinking brandy, writing his blog posts for the next day, calling friends at four in the AM, and then tumbling into bed at six.
Then comes the long interval without a breath. In the kitchen, my girlfriend, a nurse, looks worried, ” has he been to a doctor? I’d wonder if he’s hypoxic with this breathing pattern.”
Reclining in his Lazy Boy lounger, Carl lights up a Camel and calls out, ” Hey Carmen, canya get me ‘nother beer?”
I walk into the living room and suggest that it’s a nice day and an excellent opportunity to perambulate around the garden. “Naw, I gotta check my stats on WordPress and then respond to the comments. Damn, this game is awful…did you see that play?”

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