Cranky Large Medium reading, 9 December

Go away.

Are you still here? Don't you have figs to turn into pudding, or something? Why won't you leave? Oh, of course, you came here for something, and you won't go until you get some, you won't go until you get some, you won't go until you get some ... so I'll bring it right now. Your reading is as follows:

You are a totally negative person, a pessimist's pessimist. (I could grow to like you, if I were inclined to like people.) Your instincts are good, though. These bummers you perceive have kept yourself and others from disaster. You are soft-hearted, soft-headed, malleable, secretive, and not very confident in your own intellect. At home, you are a complete mushball of emotions.

Are you happy, now? Of course not. We're not Snickers, we don't even remotely aim to satisfy you. Still, you should content yourself that you're better off than all these people, who, on this date in history, began to sweeten the soil: King Malcolm IV of Scotland, Sigismund, Pope Pius IV, Pope Clement IX, Vincenzo Coronelli, Johann Reinhold Forster, Heinrich Christian Friedrich Schumacher, Nils Gustaf Dalén, Hermann Weyl, Artem Mikoyan, Mary Leakey, Fulton J. Sheen, Dame Edith Sitwell, Robert Sheckley, Anthony van Dyck, Nicholas Dingley aka Razzle, Garnett Silk, Mary Hansen, William Mountfort, William A. Wellman, Vincent Gardenia, Andrew "Rube" Foster, Branch Rickey, Archie Moore, William Watson, Walter Liggett, Ralph Bunche, Louella Parsons, Paul Simon,

and Patty Donahue.

I know what I like. I like solitude.
Happy birthday, anyway.