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You should’ve seen my ass up there putting this nonsense on. Two trashbags, duct tape, a box knife, and me off-balance. I looked like I was gonna KIDNAP the vent, like that astronaut who drove to Orlando. Notice the parallels? Crazy bitch.

This is what it looks like after. Or before. Whatever.

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And how did the vent thank me for its liberation? It started spinning immediately, blowing hot-ass attic heat into my face, and attempted to trap one of my fingers. I wanted to kick it, but then I remembered I was on my roof, and that gravity isn’t my friend, so I just shook my fist at it, old-man style. I think it got the message.

See my big-ass size 13?

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Thank God I’ve got such big feet. They keep me from falling off the damn roof while I’m up there. Look at that boat. I’m surprised there aren’t life preservers on the side of it. A queen should break a champagne bottle against the side of it whenever I start walking.

Check me out up there, chillin’ like McMillan:

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Word. Note the new”slim thug” beard I’m growing now. GANGSTA! And how about my “margarita” bass clef baseball cap? I call it a margarita cap due to the ring of SALT from my sweat that appears up above the brim. Dead sexy, I know. And the gray in the beard? Oh yes. Ladies, change those moistened thongs. But you gotta love how I rocked the gloved peace sign. No glove, no love.

So check out the Two Amigos:

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God forbid I make 7YO do any actual work. I told him to pick up the trash in the yard, and he responded by pinching his nose and not picking up trash. Such a good listener, he is. 4YO is just relaxing and supervising. He’s got a lot of DWW in him, the li’l tyke…

OK, that’s all until Diatribe time, which’ll be tomorrow or Thursday. I’ll hook you up with a double. But hey — I got ON the roof and back DOWN again without crying! I deserve a cookie.

PEACE!

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