You know what's great? Getting drunk and saying stupid things.
You know what's even better? Apologizing on a blog.
Two Minutes Hate
I think it was Margaret Mitchell who once wrote, "Hell hath no fury like a woman forced to spend hours pouring over Land Entry files from the National Archives."
Honestly, if I have to read "Chief of Field Division-Department of Interior" or "Special Agent in Charge" again I will gouge out my eyes. I could honestly not care less about the "bona fides of the entry." Is that proper english, even for 1933? Bona fides?
My eyes hurt from staring at the screen and my head hurts from the smell of toner. Do you guys smell toner and does it make your teeth itch and your eyes tighten and squeeze? My brain hurts from trying to understand the legal mumbo jumbo not only of mind-numbing land entries but the specific mind numbing mumbo jumbo that is particular to the 1930's. My wrists hurt from non-stop typing. My soul hurts because it is a beautiful day just outside the windows. No clouds over the mountains, which likely means no showers this afternoon, which definitely means I could be hiking.
I hate you Thomas C. Vint, Chief Landscape Architect NPS.
I hate you Special Agent in Charge W.G. Brown.
I hate you J.M. Dillard, United State Commissioner.
But most of all I hate you Charlie Lee White. You sound like a serial rapist.