No, my liver didn’t finally explode, the rabies hasn’t consumed me, and I haven’t been arrested for my campaign platform. What I have been is busy. I am once again doing the job of two people at work (the new girl quit), I am in the middle of remodeling my new house, and I have a dog in rehab. Physical, not drug. Oh, I also discovered the show Sons of Anarchy and I’m watching it starting with season one. Anyway, I have found that the less I blog, the less I want to blog, but I will, for now, because I won’t be responsible for all you lost souls out there going all suicidal-sad and shit.
Now I’m going to tell y’all the story of how I was almost killed by an alligator this past weekend through my photos. I somehow found the time to go to Murrell’s Inlet last Saturday to visit Brookgreen Gardens. It used to be three rice plantations in the old days, was bought by some Yankees during the Depression, and turned into an artsy fartsy garden full of sculptures and native animals and tourists with fanny packs.
There were sculptures of naked men with little willies doing weird shit:
There was a butterfly garden:
There were foxes in trees:
Otters in ponds:
I must have walked twenty miles or more when I noticed this sign:
No fence, no barrier, no other tourists around for me knock down as I made my escape. Needless to say, I ran like a motherfucker, barely cheating certain death.