Menu
A ride from the careport, and some prep for next week.
3, 6, 9, Damn She Fine By “She” I mean newspapers from 1916. Which we’re looking over. This has officially become a show devoid of
Someday, maybe I’ll go through and write actual descriptions for these that would give someone a sliver of hope of finding an old one. But
Don’t be fooled, when this one ends, there’s like another hour.
Free from the studio shackles after one whole episode, let’s go pick up PMF!
Seriously. One or two more road shows. We’re at the end. Of the road.
Oh the places we will go. Mostly Portland. That’s mostly the places.
I won’t say that it’s killing me. But it’s probably killing you.
If Adam Driver were a drive to the airport that I took all the time…you know what? This is going nowhere. Just listen.
More drives. It’s like that movie. Drive. For all I know, it’s exactly like that movie.
The road home and boy are my arms tired. From holding a gun to my head.
Another plane, another train. An automobile too. Someone should make a movie about dis shit.
Part three. What’s Milo got to do with it, got to do with it?
A sad one, but that’s how it goes sometimes, eh? Long live Dibwee.
