OK. It’s May 16th, and it looks like a damned blizzard outside. The 30-mile ride home was a rare treat, particularly the part where Putz Boy in front of me decided to use both hands to comb his hair while driving 40 mph down a slush covered, slippery highway.

Tomorrow morning I will be snow blowing again. Who knew?

I just had a couple nice drinks of Crown Royal to warm me up and to get me perpendicular to the center of the earth. This may be it for Jimbo tonight, Sports Fans.

Update: Here’s the deal on the “May” thing.
1. I am generally lousy with dates. It must be a wiring thing. I have actually booked flights and reserved cars for the wrong month, requiring me to make a mad (and sometimes expensive) scramble at the last minute to strighten things out.

That said,…

2. I may (there’s that word again) have been fantasizing “May,” as I watched the March snow drifts form on the deck.

3. It may be that the Crown Royal screwed up with my already flawed sense of time and place.

Finally, to remove any doubt about what a doofus I can be, I thought the comments were referring to the “may” that appeared in the final sentence of the Post and were questioning whether a couple gentlemanly Crown Royals (neat) would absolutely prevent my return, which we all should know could never happen.

OK, so now it’s June 17, right?