Thursday, Jack-O'Tober 26, 41 A.B.

Gee, time sure flies when you're having fun with indoor plumbing!

Yes, it's TRUE!  Number me once more among those Americans with laundry room faucets.

Faucets that turn on!

Faucets that turn on farther!

Faucets that might even turn on Father if you have a kinky enough priest in the family!

Faucets that definitely make ME wet!!


Anyway, I would have written long before now, but... well... I've been a tad preoccupied with getting to know all about my new knobs, if you know what I mean.  Fresh knobs.  Translucent knobs.  Two in number.  I can't decide which is cuter, but  I have reason to believe the one on the left is HOT!

And they even brought a sprayer friend along with 'em!  Now, how cool is THAT?!

Best time trial so far: Fly on ceiling knocked to floor and pushed under the basement door in 2.6 seconds flat!

So what if the plumber ("I like to get an early start") woke me up out of a sound nap when he arrived at 3:27 a.m. last Friday morning?

So what if he tracked gummi bears ("I like to seal my connections with their brightly colored guts") all over my rugs and floors?

The point is, I'VE GOT FAUCETS!

Enough said.


The fourth most exciting thing that's happened to be in the last week (counting the faucets as #1 and #2, and the sprayer as a close #3) was probably a result of the altered state of consciousness brought about by my new two faucets (plus sprayer).  But maybe not.  Here are the facts.  YOU be the judge.

I was half-listening to the TV.  A commercial came on.  My listening dropped down to a mere quarter of what it is when I get "Final Jeopardy!" right and fully expect Alex to acknowledge my superiority once and for all.  So this commercial is on and I kinda sorta hear the words "Limp Glass Office Workers."  And I think, whoa!  Now THERE'S something I'd like to see!  But by the time I looked, the commercial was over.  So: If you can confirm that we now have Limp Glass Office Workers in our midst, please do so.  I rather fancy the idea.  It sure would cut down on the theft of office supplies, wouldn't it?  I mean, unless all the Limp Glass Office Workers are opaque - and what would be the point of that?  Might as well go with a Kelley Girl....


Ok, now that I've lost all the casual jokers who visit this site and read only long enough to confirm their strong suspicion that I'm still an idiotic jerk, I can be honest.

The excitement of my new faucets only kept me from posting entries for about 4 days.  The rest of the time that I've been silent was a result of something far more serious and embarrassing...

Acute BI.

(Blather Inhalation.)

I know, I know....  You'd think after all these months I'd remember not to try to breath and write at the same time.  You'd think my eyes would inevitably catch on one of the innumerable warning signs I have mounted all over my office (if not knock it down altogether given my heavy astigmatism).  You'd think past experience would have at least taught me by now how much my writing suffers when I carelessly allow sufficient amounts of oxygen to reach my brain.

Well, you'd be wrong on all counts.  The fact is, I still have a few red objects in my office, and they sometimes make me hyperventilate.  If I happen to be writing at the time, it's almost impossible for me to avoid inhaling at least a few stray bits of blather.  Usually that's no problem, so long as I immediately gasp and cough and vomit, then hastily don an OSHA certified blather-proof mask.  Or deploy my snorkel, like I did before starting tonight's entry.

On Monday, however,  I actually inhaled more deeply as soon as I felt the first bits of blather tickling my nose hairs.  Just to see what might happen.  Which is rather remarkable, now that I think about it, because my nostrils are naturally bald and I don't believe that the hairs of my nostril toupees are actually connected to any nerves.  Hmmmm....  ANYWAY, the bottom line is that inhaling deeply simply was not the thing to do.  I ended up requiring mind-to-mind resuscitation, and I've been worried sick ever since because the person who came to my rescue did not use a latex mind guard.

Who knows what infectious ideas my mind may have been exposed to?  Who knows what evil thoughts might be incubating even NOW within the folded crevices of my virgin lobes??


That's it.  Gotta go scrub.

Thank goodness for those new faucets!!!


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(©Now by Dan Birtcher - which just might be the first sign of a feverish ego.  Better keep your distance!)


You know, now that I think about it...  I think I might be developing a political inflammation as well.  I first noticed it the other day when I read this on page 29 of the July 31 issue of Newsweek:

In 1976 the richest 1% of Americans owned about 20% of America's wealth.

Today the richest 1% of Americans own about 40% of it.

And before I could even go back and read it a 10th time, the following Tourette's spew literally flew from my lips:

"Seems like while Democrats have been taking about class warfare the last 25 years, the Republicans have been busy actually waging it!"

Be honest now.

Do you think I should give my head an enema???