Last night was a carnival of suck in which I had a minor panic attack. This one featured heroic ass cramps, the sweats, back pain, and clammy hands. Whee! I can't pinpoint a cause, but I suspect it's rooted in the swirling vortex of incompetence and uncertainty generated by the Trump regime. It's hard to feel safe when your President declares the press an enemy of the people and holds multi-million-dollar rallies to feed his gargantuan ego.

Roomie and I are watching Clone Wars. This nominal kids' show fleshed out and humanized Anakin and the greater Stars Wars universe far better than the craptabulous prequels. I actually feel sorry for him even though I know how he ends up, and I'm on tenterhooks to see how the inevitable downfall plays out. If the embarrassing, cash-grabbing, shoddy prequels had been created with this much forethought and attention to detail, they might have converted me into a bona fide Star Wars fan.

I wouldn't mind if someone throttled Jar-Jar Binks, though.
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