Mad for the series Mad Men, that is. And I suppose if the truth be known, mad as in pissed. Off. Sort of. Kind of. Every now and now or then. Then there is the full on rage, mad. Slow simmer ~ full boil ~ lid blown off the pressure cooker, mad raging through me and all over the damned place. Just every once in a decade or day.
I wonder what the odds are that I could get Don Draper to come over and knock the everliving shit out of this mad.
A snowball’s chance, you say? Okay.
Back to mad.