Forward glances from the zen garden declare joy of the rosy picture variety. The tingle has returned to the chapter about groinal life. The taste buds are like tip hypersensitivity. Sorbet drenched impulses blossom into the profile of a champion fully divested of any frailty. The bedspread resembles a circus tent and the body suggests boxer more than one ready for a box. Who wrote this script? The guy in the mirror who genuflects gladly at the resumption of engorgement, fairly certain that the ability to finish will be put to good use in another week or so. Nary a week ago the outlook was veering into doubtful territory. It all turned around when activated charcoal was introduced. Perhaps the poison just got absorbed. Maybe it's the healing power of the munchies. At the end of the day the stars spell out consider how small you are all the while whispering it's snack time. Tweeting "heading for the kitchen #swingingdick"

Big day today. Relax the back