(From the private journal of Ernest Pritchard)
I’m a planner. Always been a planner. My dad used to make fun of me for it. “Boy, as a baby you’d have planned out taking a shit if I didn’t spike your sippy cup with laxative.” Well, that was hilarious. I didn’t feel inclined to plan for him after a lifetime of similar bon mots, so he laughed himself into a second rate assisted living facility, and I’m sure he’s the funniest guy on the fourth floor of a building that doesn’t even have a fire escape.