Go figure . . .

. . .  yesterday I threw my worst darts in months . . . MONTHS. Today I scored my sixth 180 of 2020.

There's no rhyme or reason. It's in the laps of the Darting Gods:

6/50

Tuesday Night With Bernie

Half-listening to the dismal Democratic debate on CNN, and I hit my fifth 180 of 2020 whilst Sanders is giving his final speech of the night.

Is it a sign? . . .

. . . It's a sign I'm getting better at darts. (I didn't hit my fifth 180 in 2019 until the 5th May.)

5/50

The Terminator (1984)

Pump It Up

What rhymes with four?

A phwoar four? Do it. Do it.

4/50

Smart Moves by Stuart M. Kaminsky (Mysterious Press 1986)

The bathroom was small, a towel on the floor, the medicine cabinet partly opened. I opened it all the way and found an old straight razor, with a pearl handle and something written on it in German. I lathered, shaved without cutting my throat, looked at myself in the mirror, wiped the drops of soap from my shirt and grinned a horrible lopsided grin at the pug in the mirror who looked as if he were having a good time. It was then I decided for the two-hundredth time that the guy in the mirror was some kind of looney. My ex-wife Anne had seen it in my face long before I did, that young-old face with dancing brown eyes and a smashed nose, smiling when things were complicated and people with assorted weapons were trying to take him apart for scrap.

“This is what it’s all about,” I told the grinning fool in the mirror, not knowing what I was talking about but knowing I meant it and it was the truth. I waited for an echo to answer “Fraud,” or “Nevermore,” but there was no echo and no answer.

Number 3's a charm.

It's getting silly . . .

3/50

"My cheeks are moist."

Second 180 of 2020.

2/50

Rip roaring . . .

The 20s have officially begun:

1/50

Tremors (1990)

Flapping in the 20s . . .

I echo the sentiment . . . if not the choice of bands: