Sunday Evening Post

Doctors say that a weekly dose of the Sunday Evening Post may cure Toenail Fungus.  Are you willing to risk it?

 My nephew kicked off the week by finding a turtle with a cracked shell.

 After much debate, it was decided to celebrate my fortieth birthday with a heaping pot of jambalaya and a few close friends.  My next landmark will be a viking burial at sea.

 Soda cupcakes.

Someone must like me.

  

 The rumor is that a family member designed this building.  It must be my wife's side of the family, because my people only pillage places like this.

 Nothing warms the heart more than a young lad dressed as a chef, serving a severed human hand on a tray.  Kudos.

  

  

Peter Pan and crew belting out the hits from Broadway.  Great show.

   

 School lunch visitors.

Hey, kids!  If Mom and Pop won't let you drink coffee in the morning, a good snort of sharpie will pep you up just the same!

Hosanna in the highest.  Just one more week until Easter.

The mighty blanket fort of 2012.

 My monthly Dollar Shave Club arrived and I must admit, it is the best shave I had in a while and costs pittance compared to other blades.

 Local macaroons.  They're expensive, but the critics (my wife and son) thought highly of them.

 The great thing about walking this dog is that 

it does not leave a mess in the yard.

 The raven perched above the charity beef and beer. 

Nevermore.

Scenes from the hammock.

See you next week.

Rest in Peace,

Earl Scruggs.