In which insomnia leads to me flaunting my virility.

Hello, my esteemed reader. This is the third night in a row that I have been unable to sleep. I lie here with my eyes glued to the ceiling and nothing approaching restfulness approaching me. So I write to you out of boredom. Instead of wiling away the hours listening to the wife rhythmically snore, I am choosing to get onto the intertubes and heave yet more trash into the never ending flow of the blog-o-sphere. Be forewarned, I have nothing, yet again, of any significance to say. By now I'm sure all of you are used to that. Perhaps I could do a run down of the current state of affairs with my wee ones.

Going with the whole age progression thing, I'll start with Madeleine. She is well. Made a cake the other day; chocolate, two layer, chocolate frosting with some chocolate chips added for good measure. Little cow face decoration on top. No particular pagan holiday being celebrated, just a wholesome bovine mugshot done in white sprinkles across the face of her creation. Made it last night after I "went to bed", I caught a glimpse of it this morning prior to leaving for work. All gone by the time I got back. She is almost to the point where I don't even have to know it happened. Cake happens, with or without you.

My oldest son Mitchell, is obsessed with his latest super mario brothers game. It is called the ultimate mayhem edition. Sounds pretty classy. He plays the living crap out of that game. We are definitely getting our moneys worth of violence with this one, good value. I make him and Joe roll our trash bins to the curb every week. This winter Mitch would repeatedly end up having to drag his can the whole three hundred feet to the curb due to the snow not allowing for rolling. Joe, being much more of a pipsqueak wouldn't be able to budge his so Mitch would get to do it twice, the whole time with Joe running his mouth and hopping up and down alongside him like a coked up monkey. That's just what big brothers are for, isn't it?

Lilly has entered her sullen years as a tweener. She attempts to always look down at the floor with a pouty scowl because she apparently thinks that is what she, as an artiste, needs to do. It's kind of funny though because you can always tease a smile out of her, which will last for two seconds, and then back to the teen angst look. She rearranges all of the furniture in her room at least once a week. Obsessively. And I never hear her do it. She does it secretly, when no one's around.

Joe is the pickiest eater of the bunch. Joe is the motormouth. Joe is opinionated. Joe is always looking to make a buck. Joe needs three teeth pulled out of his head and then to have his mouth wired up with braces. Joe wears the same clothes everyday, sleeps in them too. He will pull this for as long as you let him, weeks even. Joe is the animal lover in the family, he actually notices that we have an indoor and an outdoor cat. He will actually pet them, take time to go outside in winter just for the purpose of giving our clothes pissing furball a scratch tween the ears. He willingly puts food in their dishes without being told to (that's Lilly's chore and she could care less if the dish is empty and the cat is ticked off and bellering about it).

Jemimah has taken to barking nonstop from sundown till sunrise.

Eli is also a very verbal child. He will no longer eat cheeseburgers from McDonalds or BurgerKing. Finally is starting to use the toilet, didn't know if that would ever catch on. Fascinated by anything that takes batteries. It can be the most useless piece of toy crap in the house, never played with by anyone, and if he realizes that it has a battery compartment, he will insist that you replace what's in there, regardless of cost. Cami has a routine in the car that she goes through to ensure everyones presence prior to takeoff. She starts counting and the children take turns responding with "here" in birth order. Eli always acts real put out when it's his turn; arms folded, pissy face, just says "hmph" in his high pitched baby voice. He likes to play the dysfunctional child.

As a unit in public, these children are quiet and will walk in a line behind you like ducks if you tell them to. Obedient. Worst thing that they'll do in a restaurant is get food on their faces. You can take em anywheres and they wash up easy. I wouldn't trade them for the world.

GO YOUR INFERIOR ERUPTION TODAY

Hello lonely and bored reader. Not dead yet, in case you were wondering. My computer is not so lucky. Dust, the silent killer. One of the wife's biggest fears, really. She would prefer getting run over by a freight train, which would be significantly louder. Especially if one were to be naked at the time. This is the method that Cami has selected for leaving this earth, I have instructions to provide this for her if ever she is so incapacitated. Ah, isn't marriage a beautiful thing?

Why do I write here today? I happened across my pitiful blog to check my comments, to see if suddenly I'm entertaining or not, and I noticed 25 comments on my 'summer vacation' posting. My excitement soon waned as I realized that all of the new activity was spam. Clean it out of there I did. Never have done before, but dammit, time to grow.

Most were nothing to make note about, but this one at the end caught my eye. Just at the tail end, near where the little trashcan icon lives for disposal, were the memorable words "GO YOUR INFERIOR ERUPTION TODAY". Now this gave me pause. How did this guy know about my inferior eruption? Nonetheless, if he can make it go, I might just be interested in reading a little poorly translated Asian spam.

I'm not really sure what these people are selling, some sort of search site booster thingee, but I am sure that if you would copy the whole comment onto your printer paper doogie and read it aloud, you will find much enjoyment. Plus you will then have a hard copy to post at work on the bulletin board to further confuse your moron coworkers. At least that's what I'm doing with it.

You may have noticed the poem below. That is the work of my eldest child. Apparently she lives in a dark place. Enjoy.

Supernatural - by Madeleine

Fairies emerge from within the flowers,

Dancing until the early hours,

In the moonlight, the bright moonlight.

A coven of witches, one thousand strong,

Shall rise to power before too long,

In the moonlight, the cold moonlight.

Ghosts in the graveyard, whispers of the dead,

Silent wails, shaking their heads,

In the moonlight, the eerie moonlight.

And as I sit here, typing this out,

Trying to warn you all about

The spell of the moonlight, the supernatural moonlight.

They're coming.

What I did on my summer vacation.

Absence  makes the heart grow fonder, except in the case of pathetically lazy bloggers, we just sicken thee. Went to see the kin folks up in the old holler in old world Wisconsin these past few days. I shall attempt to enlighten you as to our going ons.

Traffic was of hell both coming and going. Satanic stretches of sulfuric emissions, and that was just Gary, IN. Take a pleasant drive in pleasant weather and what could one possibly do to eff that up? Endless road construction intermixed with congestion and the pleasure of paying tolls for the privilege, that ought to do it. Even bugs are smart enough to follow the thing in front of them without constantly braking and accelerating. It's called coasting people and it's not illegal. Yes there is no coast pedal, you just have to trust me on this one, remove your feet from the controls, you will be O K . It is not like you're going to get to pass the guy in front of you just cause you raced up to his fender from a dead stop ten times in a row. The eleventh time isn't going to end any differently.

Attempted to enjoy the beach in Milwaukee but it was enveloped in a strange mid August fog. 84 degrees and sunny one mile inland, we were cool, damp, and dreary on the shore, like England only with a more annoying accent in the air. Beaches do distract children well enough I admit. We arrived with low expectations written across the offsprings mugs, yet they busied themselves promptly. The girls were drawn into the freezing cold water for the better part of an hour. Wife says that the child brains don't process temperature signals as well as the adult brains do. I would think one would have to be severely mentally incapacitated to ignore the stabbing pains of ice cold death tenderizing ones noggin whilst standing in chilly Lac Michigan, not to mention the odor. The boys naturally were drawn to the instruments of malice, namely hand sized rocks with which to beat each other with gingerly. The adults were drawn to folding chairs, with which to pretend we were in our recliners at home and comfortable, without a looming return voyage hanging over our heads. The rolling surf was nice in that it eliminated any acoustical advantages the children held over us with their strategic squabbling, couldn't hear a thing they were bitching at each other. That is the standard mode of communication between siblings, naganese.

 Getting there and coming back always nullifies all of the loveliness that can be what was there to begin with. Gone. It's like it didn't even happen. Cancel the day God created Milwaukee. You IDOT bastards. To complete the ambiance of our journey, my youngest two incessantly bickered betwixt themselves in a hostile manner for the entire return trip, a mere two feet directly behind my head, for seven straight hours. How thoughtful of them. We did the standard gorging of ourselves at Cracker Barrel on the way back to attempt to mollify the pain involved in the process of travel. Eli is starting to get the hang of the whole peeing in public ritual. Still diaper clad, he at least insists on using the facilities whenever we are about town. I just wish he would stop picking up the urinal cakes every time we visit the men's room, he apparently finds them fascinating. He always acts so surprised to find them in there, as if he's just cashed in on a successful Easter egg hunt.

Get home and the cats are riled up and acting all feral. Feral is feline for "Hold my catnip and watch me launch myself off of that big bald guys forehead with claws extended." Yes, the inside of my house is so dangerously wild. It's a dog eat dog, law of the jungle kind of residence. Give me a break furbags, just take a two day nap like ya would be doing if we were at home. Stupid cats.

 These trips always make me feel like I'm really missing something in life. Eating, spending, shuttling about, that part's easy; I can act like a commercial, I just don't ever feel like a commercial. The living of it is what just don't come naturally. Drudgery, now that part shows up with no effort at all and makes itself right at home, feet on the furniture and crumbs in the sofa in no time.

Patriotic mayhem.

Went to the old fireworks show last night. Loved the loud ones that don't do nothing but threaten to blow out yer eardrums. I so hated those as a child. Now I would go to a show of nothing but. They are also cool because they illuminate all of the smoking carnage from everything else blowing up, like a flashcube, a flashcube of death. I always think of war during the fireworks show, seems right and noble to me. Imagining the noise as if it were intended for my destruction, not my entertainment. Holy shit if one of them shells landed in the crowd. But boys love noise and damn the consequences, ergo, we sit obediently as the sky explodes in front of us.

Wow, I am one pathetic blogger, last post... April 15th! Holy crap, that was quite a while ago. And it's not like I've been terrble busy or anything. 

Finally had the children clean up their latest lasagna incident. It had been stewing for a couple of weeks upstairs and I was absolutely not going to  touch it. My little nightly hints of "why  don't you go clean up that shit storm in the upstairs toilet?" had had no effect on my patient children, who thought they could wait me out. But today I emerged victorious. Cami's hair dying gloves on the other hand did not fair so well. RIP that old pie pan, too. I didn't want the kids scratching the commode with my rusty old spade in the garage, so we turned to the kitchen for implements. Wanna keep things nice, you see.

Joe had his birthday a couple of weeks ago, just wanted his own personal NintendoDS (dual screen) to play with so as to not to have to bother with the whole sharing farce that we enforce upon the young in this household. Eli had an anniversary too. Less expensive than Joe's, but loads more stuff to have to pick up afterwords. Maddie and Mitch have theirs in about a week. Who knows what the hell they want, they ain't talking. Lilly has a top ten list scrawled out that features some Barbie dolls and a double portion of Ken with the appropriate plastic doll vehicles to go along.

Incredibly, I am mowing again, praise Jesus. The mower is actually a smallish tractor. Kind of overbuilt for the job, but I'm finding that that is what it takes in order to overcome my amazing ability to destroy all that is mine. Downside is that now I have a tool that can take out the garage if I'm not careful (and I generally am not). With the grass cut for the first time in two years, the house actually looks inhabited; like putting a leash on a stray dog or sleeves on a hillbilly.

Went grovelling to our tax guy today. July is a bit late to be starting the filing process, at least for a punctual German guy like me. Sheepishly turned over our books and was informed that no this is still not enough, go get more information. Apparently this will never end. I am stuck in a not able to get my refund, loop from Hell, dollars hanging there in midair taunting me. Still not prepared for 2009. Hope to have my overpayment funds back before 2010.

Wife had a fun time in Seattle. Week of Saturdays. I stayed home with my constantly noisy companions, a week of Mondays. Wife catches a giant flying salmon and gets fishy juice all over her dress. A friend of my wife's asked me what I do for fun. All I had was... grocery shopping? I think I've just lamed myself. Oh well, Target is fun and I guess I don't care how retarded I sound admitting that to normal people.

Win one for the Gipper.

As this blog is named after the United States T@x Code and as it is the anniversary of our yearly tribute to the overlords who so selflessly serve us in WashingtonDC, I would like to comment on a few things that I feel may merit some commentary. Such as...

Walking laps about the government workhole the other day I observed a large snorty digger thingee sidling up to a nearby concrete block structure. This fellows work for the day consisted of demolishing said building to presumably make room for some alternative use of said property. Fine, sounds easy: raise the bucket to about four feet above grade and commence a side to side swinging action meant to mimic a Mike Tyson hot date. Viola' building leveled and plenty of time for a long lunch break. Ahh, but I was thinking on the government side of the fence. What this worker did with his almighty dinosaur looking claw thingee was to carefully peel the layers of sheet metal roofing off of the dump so as to facilitate cash money scrap retrieval bucks. Took him much longer but evidently it was worth the extra effort, else he wouldn't o bothered. Then my mind wandered back in its memories to recover thoughts of the implosion of the Hoosier dome recently here in downtown Indy. Twenty seconds is all she took. Twenty seconds and she was not even paid for yet, yup, upside down on our wonderful little home of the Colts. I assume that my mortgage company would be just fine with me if I engaged in a similar action with their home that I live in. Tired of your old digs and the market goes south? Just level the place and build something ten times grander and just roll the debt on into it. Yes, that is exactly how it works in the real world. Sound financial planning I may add.

But we are told that this building will be such a boon to our local economy. Mental math time...500 million dollars divided by 30 years equals about 16 million bucks per each. Divided by 8 games equals 2 million smackers per home appearance. Divide that by 50,000 seats and that works out to only a mere 40 dollars per seat per game till I'm 70 years old. I'm sure that this fancy smancy new facility will still look just as wonderful in 2039 that we won't even want to replace it. Add to that expenses such as the actual team salaries and assorted costs of running an NFL franchise and I guess I won't be going to any games any time soon, too rich for my wallet. First year operating deficit was only 10 million dollars, but can you feel the boon?

Listening to the radio the other day, I was lucky enough to catch a caller to the local right wing talk show getting berated by the host for not being an actual football fan, whilst discussing the merits of what amounts to millions of dollars torched up in corporate welfare. Yes geeks beware, discussion of tax policy and fiscal spending by the government will now be limited to sports nuts only. You may only contribute your dollars, not your wimpy non football loving opinions. Shut up, touch your toes and fork it over, mister uncoordinated, this is Football we're talking about.

Making your mark in this world.

Welcome weary fans of the poop lasagne. I haven't been too keen on firing up the computer as of late, I offer my humble apologies. It has been far too easy to start meandering around the intertubes, filling your head with streaming mind garbage, and the next thing you know, bam it's tomorrow. All is essentially the same here, with only subtle differences creeping in and nonetheless freaking out my frack. Cami for one has been undergoing some shifts that are starting to add up.

It all started with the Edward. Twilight's pasty faced, sullen looking, flesh eating vampire Edward. First the one book, then the other three, then second copies of each of them, then the viewing of the film with friends, then the finding of different friends to enable multiple viewings, then the sneaking out of the house to view it alone (seven times all together),  then the t-shirts and licence plate covers and the booking of a cross country trip for four to visit the locales depicted in the book and finally it's been the collecting of teen vampire soft p0rn type books. We have a bookshelf full of that particular genre now. She's been using her homeschoolers discount card at the local Barnes&Noble for these purchases, though I would think that tomes of the slutty undead generally would fall outside of my children's required reading list. Well I believe these books are beginning to influence her behavior.

Some things I would say are positive; she has become involved with the ancient art of yoga. This is surely a good thing, I mean aura cleansing, chi flow, feng shui, work the core ... all of that mind-body-soul healthy hindu-asian crap, this is a wonderful development. Recently she's started in with belly dancing lessons, too. Now I like me the Greek food quite a bit, I like jingle skirts and shiny shiny, and I believe that the head slide is the coolest thing ever, so this too is a good thing. 

Today I believe she has crossed a line and gone over into not thinking straight land. She's been asking me which type of imagery she should have tattooed over her nipples: roses, stars, daisies, hearts? Wtf... hell no. I am uncomfortable with the idea of altering regular old ordinary skin. I'm really not liking the idea of needling up anything pink and wrinkly. Having suffered a not to be mentioned shaving accident in one of those areas last summer, let me just say, ouch-dammit that smarts a mother, and the concept of paying someone to do it to both of them is just, let's just say I don't get it. Cami seems to believe that since she has survived being disconnected, literally not attached, to her weather sensors for five hours during her chest reconstruction/reduction operation many moons ago, that now she has super nipples that are impervious to pain. Perhaps she does, I don't know. I guess she could look into having the superman logo placed over each of them in order to accurately convey her feelings about her pointy bits.

Well playtime is over, Cam is back from the fat church (Weight Watchers) and off in the other room distorting her mind with another teen vamp thriller. This I must stop. Tatas for now.

Odl lay odl lay odl lay hee hoo.

Hello, I am on a bit of a holiday right now, so no work for the next six days. Of course, as expected, I have fallen ill and have been feeling crappish. Today eventually found me back in bed watching The Sound of Music for the millionth time in my life. I'm not one to watch a movie that I've seen before, but TSOM just keeps on coming back. I know that I am under the weather as I have spent the whole movie crying. Not sobbing or bawling, just a steady stream of tears, no actual reason for it. Nacho Libre has the same effect on me; must be the nuns, or I'm just going hormonal.

This movie is very important to my family. My baby sister rented a projector and played it in the alley on the side of her garage for her drunken thirtieth birthday gathering. The movie is sort of the Becher family story. My mom was a convent drop-out and went on to marry a Naval veteran who was significantly older than her. I have five sisters and a brother just like they do. We don't sing, we're all kind of tone deaf, but it doesn't stop us from living the VonTrapp dream and breaking into inappropriate bellowing once in a while. My sis even married a guy whose last name starts with Van. For our own sakes, we got us a German exchange student one spring from neighboring Nuremberg. He had never seen TSOM, wasn't even familiar with the concept. I was incredulous.  I mean can you imagine the tourism dollars that this movie must generate for the Bavarian/Austrian region? The night before he was to return to the fatherland, I held him captive and forced him to watch under the threat of my five pound sledge. These kids have got to learn what side their bread is buttered on. If he knew what was good for him he'd be  first in line for wearing handmade leiderhosen crafted out of grandmas drapes and then he'd be dangling his Arian arse from the nearest low hanging branches over the local autobahn every day after school with his goose-stepping buddies. Crafting a memory for any visiting Americaners, it would be like printing your own cash. Some people have no gumption.

 If only the countess had shown up from Vienna prior to Maria infiltrating the VonTrapp family  household. I mean there were eleven other horrible governesses in a row, not a one of them with youth or a waist or those perky Frau Frau dresses with the tie downs under the chest. No, she had to wait to attempt to sweep old Ge'org off of his feet until the hot little nunnette tramps upon his doorstep, all soaked and wet T-shirtty after falling into the Danube. Blondie makes her move two months sooner and those snot faced little Austrian terrors wouldn't of known what hit 'em before they would've been shipped off to boarding school. The old Cap'n would still be blowing his whistle in the North Sea on some leaky Nazi Uboat had she gotten her timing right. Maria would be back at the abbey irritating all of them bitchy penguins. Ralph would have been the unfortunate victim of a little friendly fire, shot by his own troops in the Hitler Youth. Herr Detwieler could of been schlumming around Salzburg attempting to "entertain" the lonely (and may I add, well proportioned) Countess Schroeder and her piles of Deutchmarks. Poor Max, I feel for the guy, he came so close. I'm sure that as soon as the goon squad realized that he had helped them warbling weasels escape, he was summarily executed, in spite of his charming wit. How's that fer your happy ending, Hammerstein? Come on everybody, sing along.

Rumination over Retail Establishments

If you were wearing night vision goggles, and you had pissed me off, this would be the last thing you would see before going to meet your maker in an untimely bedtime 'accident'. I apologize if this imagery frightens you. I do not intend to cause harm to my readers via night terrors or Vietcong flashbacks. I just thought you all should know what danger looks like.

Now that we have that bit of unpleasantry out of the way, I would like to wonder aloud why it is that people who drive unbearably slow on twisty roads appear to be in no hurry for any part of their lives to commence at once, except the part whereby they cut you off in order to be in front of you. That part must begin immediately. Life's a raucous diet Pepsi commercial, with music and dancing and sunglasses and bikini clad chicks and fast cars and all, all until the moment that they find themselves blocking your progress, then it's suddenly more like the commercials that are on during the evening news (incontinence, impotence, enlarged prostrate products)... and I don't like those commercials, nobody does. That's why I chose to NOT KNOW what is happening in the wide world around me via the oh so important evening news. It spares me the oncoming reality of having to sit on the edge of a meadow in a matching claw foot bathtub with my significant elderly other in order to achieve an erection, while wearing an adult sized diaper and suppressing the urge to trot off to the men's room. Some thoughts are just too much for my fragile ego to bear. So I resent having to drive fifteen mph under the posted speed limit with nothing to do but dwell on my chances of having to live through that most unpleasant of futures.

Went to the Wally-World today. It ain't no Target, that's fer damn sure. I don't know what it is. Well actually I do... Wal-Mart has zero sex appeal. Never had, never will. And I'm not just talking about the patrons. I have just never felt anything special about being there and I don't think anybody else ever has either. The place just screams "It's OKay to wear your bathrobe and fuzzy slippers in here, and stagger around with your bedhead and a general odor abouts yourself, I don't mind", preferably through one of them patented Kentucky mouths with a third of the teeth missing, the kind that HeeHaw always tried to pass off as normal by having pretty gals in plaid belly shirts with that seductive knot calling out to you, wearing blackout on their grills, but that in reality has never ever looked good on an actual person. Of course ol' Walter would be staggering around the bed of his pickup truck whilst proclaiming this slurringly and holding his fifteenth Old Milwaukee and considering if it's a good time to go git a little bit of target practice out of the way.

Target, conversely, is more the type of place where one always feels as if the other patrons may be eavesdropping in on you and your spouse's oh so clever banter because your just both so damn good looking and hip. If your feeling exceedingly cool, there is a whole section of black leather furniture and stylish lamps to feed your self importance. There are aisles of organizational entitlements to help you feel stylishly NewYorkish as you unclutter your life. Then there are more aisles of crap that you can put into your freshly purchased bins so that one can feel that they have enough thingees to prevent them from ever having to suffer from anything as horrible as an occasional spate of boredom. Full makeup required. Take a shower you pig. Tuck in that shirt, this is Target, land of the red and white concentric circles. Neat and organized concentric circles, dammit; neat, organized and sexy.

As I prepare to leave you, I would like to share with you this bit of imagery from the ever so cultured Pacific Northwest area. This is a wall that has been lovingly attended to through the years by the refined citizens of upscale Seattle, with decades of old chewing gum. Yes, you too, can go to this wall and contribute, or help yourself to this edible architecture if you prefer, fresher additions will come up easier, watch for the glisten. Sure it's a bit germy, but what a statement, and it's free. If you turn your head sideways, it looks like a huge outpouring of political support for your fave cause celeb. For me it brings to mind those Pakistani taxi driver beaded seat covers, only I'm imagining that this would feel better on my lower back.

Your 2009 posting.

I have been pitiful in my postings and I sort of apologize for that. I will not be able to change this unless I win the free time lottery or get sent to jail and am allowed to post from my cell. I am not a busy person, yet this is not happening with any frequency whatsoever. It may have something to do with me anticipating writing something craptastic and not feeling any urges to put my paltry thoughts on display. Wife says that the title of this blog automatically excuses me from having to do a good job, so here it is...

I wanted to encourage everyone who may be feeling down about the current condition of the economy, politics, the weather or whatever. A while back I was returning from Target and as I sat at the light awaiting my left turn signal, two well dressed fellows pulled by in front of me with the hugest smiles on their faces, apparently enjoying a laugh and some frivolity. Just seeing these two, happily working and looking so joyous, put me in a better mood. In spite of everything going on in the world, this pair could look beyond all of the glumness and doom, and put on a bright face to the world. It was as if the sun was shining directly out of the front of the hearse that they were driving, and illuminating a better future for us all. I was inspired by their simple pleasure in this fleeting life and I hope that their example can lead others to perk up and get happy.

I have just received my lifetime concealed carry permit in the mail yesterday. This means that I must now select my first weapon to arm myself with. I have been dreaming a lot about Bigfoot recently and though I know that I could not shoot the Bigfoot because of his humanity, he's still a Bigfoot and I need a gun big enough to take him down if necessary. Hear me Bigfoot? I am not afraid to take you down. We could be friends and all, as occurred in one of my latest dreams, but I will not put up with any of your Bigfoot shenanigans. No peeking in the window, no dragging the kids off into the woods, and most importantly, never disturb my slumber. I watch for the Bigfoot when I drive to and from work in the dark. 309 deer, zero Bigfoot. Bigfoot should be on the endangered species list, except then it would be illegal for me to put a cap in his hairy, peeping Tom arse. In my dreams, his fur is more like eighteen inch long dreadlocks that cover his tall body. Skinny guy, too. Wears a ball cap and jams, scavenged from campsites of course. Very lonely. Sad.

I am pissed at the Indianapolis fire department. I was driving to Target yesterday, and as I passed a neighborhood entryway, a fire truck emerged from between the houses and into view with its lights on. I didn't have time to pull over prior to the passing, as the road was very slick with snow and ice from our recent weather travails, so I passed the truck and then pulled off to the side of the road to allow them to pass me. These bozos, instead of going around me and continuing on to the Pizza King three blocks ahead of me where I can see three other pieces of fire fighting gear parked in the lot, these public servants pull up right on my rear and lay on the horn, repeatedly. I am off to the side of the road in the snow and have to put it into four wheel drive in order to get out of their way, all of the time they keep up with the incessant air horn bellowing and deafening me in my soft top Jeep. Now I know that Pizza King pizza is not exactly the tastiest za to be had in the land, as a matter of fact it is probably the worst, greasiest crap I've ever been unfortunate enough to have in my mouth, but does that mean that one has time to play jokes on the citizenry instead of hightailing to the raging grease fire that surely is a Pizza King inferno? Priorities children.

Now I must end this. The hour approaches midnight and I am too old to sit up here all night blathering on about the pointlessness of my existence. I'm off to sleep, to sleep, perchance to dream.... of Bigfoot, hopefully.

Urgent Christmas Update: Reply at Once.

Hello loyal reader, I am back again. How is your son doing? Good to hear that, we all grow out of that whole secret squatting phase sooner or later, my favorite place was in the front yard landscaping. I hope everyone is prepared to say goodbye to that train wreck we call 2008. I'm sure 2009 will be just peachy.

The wife has me currently occupied with her latest obsession, the 'twilight' series of books. I don't know why I am reading them as she has revealed every last secret within them a multitude of times. It is all rather much just a lot of gushing and smoldering without any surprises left to entertain ma man brain parts. I mean it, it is almost nothing but gushing and smoldering, I don't think I've ever read a book that gushed and smoldered so often in my life. I'm embarrassed to be reading it, honestly. Where's the action? Furthermore, the setting is just so ordinary, Biology class? It makes the depth of their emotions seem a tad overblown, they're in high school for Pete's sake, how big of a deal can this romance be? Finally, he eats people for a living, for crying in the beer, this ought to count for something, something negative, extremely negative. I don't care how smoldering Edward Dalmer is, his diet is just plain disqualifying. So there.

Christmas went off without a hitch, even with me forgetting to take out the trash last week. So what if we had seven large bags of trash in the kitchen for the holidays? The kids could've cared less, as long as the goods got delivered, nobody was gonna get hurt.

Except me of course. Had a real bad case of 'Lego Back' after assembling Eli's ginormous rescue helicopter. It only took an hour and a half to snap together, and I think it lasted all of about three minutes until he decided that it's shiny, pristine newness was so yesterday. Next thing I know, I can hear the theme music from 'Sanford and Son' playing in the living room as he's busy altering the design to better suit his needs.

Madeleine finally has aged enough that Mom thought it was time for a little make up to be had. If she was excited about it, I failed to notice. It's a big deal for her to just wash, dry and style her hair, I think I've witnessed that happening once, so I can't imagine her going all high maintenance on us. Never know, could happen.

Mitchell was content to get even more Bionicles. He now has enough to create a robotic football team sent from the future to kill us all. He sure likes him them posable man dolls.

Lillian had the cat eyeing up one of her toys for her own personal destruction, a sick looking pink stuffed animal creature with blue wings. That sort of toy is right up Fancy Pooh-Fart 'Snickers" La Salles alley (yes, that is the cats actual full name). Lilly has been instructed to hide it well, lest she find it delimbed and soaked to the stuffing with sick cat slobber. Merry Christmas.

Joseph tortured us all with his horrific playing of the Rock and Roll on the Wii Guitar Hero World Tour Game for Middle Aged Parents so That They Can Feel Like They Are Somehow Still Cool. Man that game is fun once you wrestle the axe from your child's tiny hands and evict them all from the room. I can really strum well in leather pants.

Me and Cami got squat, but that was to be mutually expected, being pitiful married people and all. The dog at least got leftovers from dinner, she was happy. She may smell like a$$, but to her she's living the high life.

Temps got up into the 60's on Saturday, so Cami engaged in her annual winter ritual of hand washing her car. She didn't realize that we are currently hoseless, so I had to operate as a one man bucket brigade for her. It was really windy. Boy, I never realized how much fun it is to pour water out of a bucket in high winds, as none of the water hits the ground, it all just flies sideways and disperses in an out of control horizontal rainstorm. Cami was pretty soaked by the time I was done 'helping' her. Car looks good though. Must hide it in garage now. Much too pretty to share.

This will be all for now and thus ends today's exciting tales from the poop lasagne factory. Flush thee well citizens.

Here I am...

Hello loyal readers, yes it is me, I have returned. I think that I have had sufficient time to be pissed off about the old blogger destroying my handiwork and now I am mentally prepared to resume me some blogging. Still no pictures of course, that would be way too much effort for me, camera and all, no thanks. Just me and these twenty six keys, spacebar, comma, period, delete, backspace, shift and enter.

Well Christmas is a coming, we have no goose to get fat, Eli is in the other room screaming his bloody head off. Real boy still is in the diaper way and resisting change. He accepts the whole underwear wearing philosophy, he's just not that into the whole proper use of said undies. Is a shame too, as I have seen a bright future in his toilet flushing abilities. Solid. Boy knows how to pull a lever. If only the others had such promise.

Yes, we have been in an upstairs loo lockdown situation for about six weeks now, as no matter the amount of policing, things very quickly get out of hand with the children's facilities. I made an executive decision to close the washroom and now I live with the frequent interruptions of the offspawn. Better than the odorous alternative. We have recently relaxed the requirements in the household and number one is now allowed in the youth can, but only number one, and full flushing cooperation is expected; and by number one, I don't mean Madeleine. We'll see how it goes.

Our tree is up for the holiday and covered with breakable representations of unrealistic southern Indiana snowfall totals resulting in the construction of artificial men, scantily clad in bare bones hobo ware. This is the wife's favorite form of seasonal celebratory decorative milieu. I don't get it. However, pop in on her blog if you wish to view her odd hobby. Bloomington averages 9.5 inches of snow a year, the lowest total in the state, so one can see where one would hardly ever see a snowman round here.

I have two children hovering over me now, anxiously watching me a typing and impatiently a waiting the use of the family 'puter. Some RPG MMO thingee written by Koreans that they play endlessly. There is only one battle screen format and it is dull. I don't get it, but they do, so I'll relent and let the carnage begin here shortly.

I myself am hovering anxiously over the dinner table awaiting the wife to bring home the room temperature at best pizzas from the burg of Franklin. It's about 10 degrees outside with 30 knot winds so I expect all pizzeria heat will be fully dissipated from the pies by the time of their arrival home. I don't care. Seventeen weeks of weight watchers has taught me to not care what the hell I shove in my mouth as long as it doesn't have too many points.

On that happy note, I'm off to my familial duties. Rest well and enjoy your Christmas time, I'll be at the work keeping your families from having midairs at thirty-seven thousand feet. Toodlie pooh to you.

I'm tracking how much of my lifeforce you suck up, Blogger.

Okay, now I'm pissed. I just wasted 51 minutes of my life ranting about the metric system and the capacities of the modern American toilet and how this relates to sewage water running out of my dining room ceiling and poof. It's gone. This does not please me.

I finally find a few precious minutes to contribute to the world of literature and it's as if I had done nothing for the last hour. I could of been napping, or watching women's beach volleyball, or napping. Such a waste.

This is the sort of life altering event that could cause one to never blog again. Yes, it's that serious.

Well, let me assure you that it was one hilarious post that I'd wrote, probably my best ever. Aah, the muse is gone now, fluttered away never to inspire me again. All that is left is this pitiable showing, my only output for over a month. It's too hideous, I can barely stand to look at it. Yet I stare at its sickening beauty. Drool forms at the corners of my parted lips as I unthinkingly mouth breathe over my keyboard.

I hope you enjoyed today's exciting entree of Poop Lasagne. You're welcome.

Not exactly back in the saddle

Certain things in a father's life cause him to pause and reflect on how he's spending his time, on his influence with his spawn children, and where the path he's on will take him and his family. Things like having this for a son...

make the days a little longer. Boris has taken to his bed at the shock of it all. I'm me, Frau Becher, hijacking this here blog, in the interim. Beers will be consumed, orthodontia will be purchased, and, if all else fails, we'll be commuting to the zoo to visit the middle son. I hope Herr Becher can find his way back to blogging... he's quite the curmudgeon without it.

Aquaman is ripped like Jesus.

I don't know, should I post? I've been considering it lately. Sooner or later I will have to put something up here, something of significance. All of my loyal readership is holding its breath, awaiting my further instruction. I just find it hard to work up the gumption to slog something into the intertubes whilst my wife goes about exceeding a post per day. That's just sick. She takes things to sleep you know. I don't. I have to actually go to bed in order to achieve rest. Not equitable. I estimate that she has an extra four hours a night of kid free time to accomplish all of this blog de blog. She can post from work, too.

So what's happening? Had some rain last week. Nearly 11 inches in 12 hours. Very localized. It pretty much tanked the local wastewater management systems (read 'culverts'). Poor Franklin is the focal point for all watershed in northern Johnson county. Town got slammed. Go to bed and it's raining. All night lightning show, horrible nights sleep (my bedroom has eleven windows), wake up, it's still dumping outside. Go to work, nonstop wave of water flying out from under my tires, crossed a few raging streams, drove left of the rumble lines on a state highway for several blocks trying to stay tires on ground. People woke up in town with water at their doorsteps rising fast and it's still coming down buckets. I'd guess that a third of the homes in town had water in their first floors. Kinda stinky there now.

I would like to point out that unlike the Cedar Rapids flooding, which believe me sucks the kazoo too, this flood was an unforeseen event. Notice that there was no footage of Franklin residents sandbagging in preparation for the big event. No body knew it was coming until it was there. Also one doesn't realize how bad it was because all of the news coverage was after it stopped raining. It was much scarier driving around town for two hours in pouring rain with every other street blocked by high water and sewers spurting water skyward and every way in or out of downtown underwater. The business district was an island about four blocks square and with only about one foot of elevation above the flood.

Okay, gotta scram. Will attempt further communique concerning local weather related phenomena later. (cue the sesame street music, you know, manamana-do doo de do do)

Educate yourselves.

Just in case any of you don't think that I follow politics closely, here are the transcripts from Sen. Obama's latest speech, I think you will find this rather illuminating. I just happened to be reading it when a Hillary Clinton supporter called to encourage me to get out and vote for her. I told her that I would consider it, all the while trying not to break out laughing.

On another note, this site below I find is important for any of you considering starting a family or a career in elementary education. It's for your safety that you should know these things.

18

Ten unrelated statements of undeniable fact.

We are the Monday people. I have beautiful Monday thoughts. This is important, so sit up straight and take mental notage.

I) I was on one of my rare upstairs visits the other day, so I decided to check the kids bathroom status for possible lasagne disorders. I was surprised to find that someone had lined the toilet seat with TeePee and left it that way for emergency purposes, I guess. Strikes me as strange that one of the culprits who makes piles of unflushable hoohah would care about what exactly they are sitting on when they do do this.

II)On my way home from work the other day, I had the pleasure of following a green Dodge van nearly all of the way home. It didn't matter how slow or fast I drove, at every light I looked up and there he was again. Staring disinterestedly at this fellows rear end, it took me a minute to notice his bumper sticker, a stick figure man with one leg slightly lifted circled in red with a bar crosswise, underneath stating simply 'No Farting' . I found myself unconsciously obeying.

III)I have been catching up on 'LOST' lately and am starting to notice that some of the maintenance guys at work look suspiciously like the 'others' from the show. One guy that I never saw before even had a huge fake bristly beard and I think that he is their leader. I'm afraid to tell anyone because I don't know who I can trust anymore. What the hell are these people up to?

IV)Aren't solar panels a form of visual pollution just because they are ugly? Who wants to actually look at these things. Everyone goes on and on about how they don't pollute but then do you want to look out of your window to gaze upon a field of machinery. I would cry like that Indian guy looking over a bunch of tires in the creek bed if I had to look at that all day.

V)The grass it is growing and I can do nothing to stop it. I don't have the gear. I am leaving it up to God to provide me with the resources necessary to cut my lawn. That or drought, pestilence, brimstone, however God wants to handle my landscaping needs, I will obey.

VI)I am disgusted with this country meddling in the world food markets with our Iowa voter buyout ethanol subsidy plan. The very same people who bemoan that food should be a right provided at no cost are the ones driving this Global Warming Monkey and starving real people in the poorest regions of the globe by distorting the crap out of the price of food. This to me is shameful behavior by our politicians and their constituents who are demanding this crap. Pure evil.

VII)Could anyone explain to me how wearing a hoodie to my job endangers the flying public. Why is it more important that I look a certain way, than that they (the Others) keep the room that I work in above 60 degrees. No visitors allowed. Just show up at the guardhouse and see if they'll let you in for a looksie. They won't. But rest assured that I'll be wearing corporate casual inside my radar room meat locker. It's safer that way.

VIII)My dad has had his left titty removed and now is certified 100 percent cancer free. He has big plans to go shirtless in as many public forums as possible. Carnies beware, there's a new player in town.

XI)Why does every soundman on planet earth think that knives constantly make a 'shing' noise when one removes them from storage. Do they learn this in the same place where punches are so gratifyingly loud. How come a rifle butt to the head will always knock a person unconscious. It never causes brain damage, or kills, or just smarts. Every time - unconscious. Just once I would like to see a victim a of a rifle butting react with hunched shoulders, pained expression and an Ouch. Then I would like to see the buttee try it again.

X) Lack of sleep can lead to mental disorders. It can also lead to driving into telephone poles. Choose your bedtime carefully.

Must go eat bread shaped piles of ground up cow with salsa and crackers mixed in, then sleep the sleep of the sleep deprived. Bye bye now.

The glint is blinding

Hi, y'all. I just hacked into my husband's blog to bring you tidings of bald joy. This goes out to Thimbleanna... I think she has a 'thing' for bald guys. They have better "street creds", you know. Without further ado, I bring you... Bill's dome, before...

and after. Nice and shiny, huh? He's sexy, even if he's the biggest friggen' grouch in the whole world. I'll keep him, though. (Can't torture him good if I turn him loose.) This has been Clementine, having a bit of fun at the ol' crank's blog. Type at y'all latah. C

Enough of the wife.... if these pics are not showing here is an appropro link. -Boris

Sick little thoughts from a sick little man.

Good evening reader, how does it all go with you on your end of the line? (rhetorical, please do NOT respond) It has been sick week at the BecherHaus. Cami has the cough and flu like symptoms, I've been snot faced and nose blowing all around, the spawn suffer from malaise and disorder, the usual. Children are playing with their Wii, Clemencam is at her shop making the monies and I am left to hammer out this post. It's hammer time! No, I am not dancing in short gold pants with five pounds of bling chained to my neck right now, I have dignity.

Engrossed in LOST right now. Love the format. Didn't think that one could make a 'stranded on a deserted isle' show that was interesting enough that you actually wanted them to remain stranded on a deserted isle, but it has been done. I like these people too much for me to want to see them be rescued. They are in the middle of nowhere and yet there is no end to the new character possibilities, fresh faces just keep popping up, it's crazy good. The motivation for each of the characters actions is thoroughly investigated via the vehicle of endless non sequential flashbacks. This is done to bridge you from disgust at these slimeballs and their reprehensible actions, to admiration for these noble creatures and respect for the trials they have had to endure. Extra special kudos to the casting department for finding this Hurley actor, this guy is Belushi reincarnated with an extra 100 lbs. thrown on for dramatic effect, he is ha ha ha funny.

My Dad called last week to inform me of a medical malady that he has contracted. Seems that he has developed a bit of the breast cancer, left side variety. Radical mastectomy this Thursday. This is no ones idea of fun. I'm praying for you Dad and hope things go well. Guess I'll have to go get a pink ribbon for my car now. Cami thinks that you should still be able to bowl, so you've got that going for you.

Today is April 15th, the ides of the taxman. Was planning on cleansing the scalp of all hair this day, symbolic of the raping of society by our governmental overlords. I've been letting it grow since Thanksgiving, going all hippie and such, allowing the abundance of hair growth to symbolize the overwhelming plenty that God has given us. Now I find that I am hesitant to take drastic action, I believe that this symbolizes the discontentment of the angry white man as he struggles with the societal guilt ... awe, now I'm just making stuff up, see, I can write a college level paper. I find just as losing the hair is so refreshing in the summer months for its cool skull features, retaining the growth is helpful for not freezing to death in winter. Been waffling the last few days as to whether or not to do it, Cami suddenly doesn't seem to be interested in baldness so much so more. Ahh, it'll grow back, right? Off with it already.

Lookie at the time, nine bells. Must go maniacally scream at the tots to get the he11 to bed, such a loving parent that I is. Then I have a date with a dog clippers and a lady bic. Chow.

Will anyone read this?

What the he11 do you people expect from me? Don't you understand that I am a tired old brainfart of a shadowman who cannot manage to shave itself in a timely fashion, much less input useless babblings into the inter-tubes?

When the authorities are finished with me, I will be tossed aside like the floppy vapid soul-sucked being that I am, forever deskless. Yes, humiliating but true, government bureaucrat that I is, I am without a desk. No cubical to call my own, I have no phone, or calendar, no meetings or paperwork. Forms I do not touch and correspondence I do not engage in. I am a poor lost nanny state nanny without direction or guidance, without paper or pencil to push. No work computer to call my own, no files to misplace or organize or ignore. No teleconferencing, no travel, no continuing education.

My work is more like taking the tediousness of a manufacturing job and intermingling it with the urgency of a short order cook. We have to tell everybody what to do in the language of air traffic control, which is written by lawyers who don't care about keeping it short. We have to tell everybody what to do in a hurry, 900 mph closure rates demand this. Time is of the utmost importance. SpeakFastOrDie lawyerese. Now replace your telephone with a Dixie cup and a string. Add to this a prisonlike setting, PC speech codes, and egos run amok and you have your basic Air Safety Nazi Occupation.

Enough about the beauty that is my work. Yes, me and family went on a little jaunt about the Midwest. Eight days, seven nights, 2000 miles. We went to see Grandmas(2), Parents(4), Siblings(5), Sibling Spouses(4), Aunties(1), Cousins(2), Nephews(1), Great Uncles(1), Friends(1)and Dogs(3). Would I do it again? Give me $2000 and two weeks off from work and sure! Elsewise, I think I should probably just go take a nap.

Milwaukee was magic, as usual. So much in such a little area, what an anomaly! Drove through Arbor Vitae WI, always wanted to see what was the big draw there. It's like Dirty Dancing or The Parent Trap up there. Ashland was as underutilized as ever, could be such a neat place, someday money will find it. Duluth was geologically freaky cool, altitude is fun. Minneapolis was on and off rampy. Infrastructure city. Storm Lake IA has a lighthouse near the entrance to their city (!?) and Sigourney IA still has no fast food (Subway does not count).

Am watching Twin Peaks circa 1990's television. Such wonderful cheese. One can not beat a backwards talking, dancing midget for good entertainment. Excellent portrayals of people being possessed, can't get enough of that. Could do without all of David Lynch's 1950's stylings set in the late eighties, I am quite ready to wretch a gerbil if I see one more leather clad, sunglasses wearing, brooding douchebag on a Harley riding away from his girl cause he can't handle what life has thrown up on his plate. Thank goodness so many characters die, it's therapeutic.

Someday I may post again....

Target is roho, how can you resist?

Tomorrow I go grocery shopping again, only this time it will not be Kroger. Instead I will brave the halls of Target, halls which are lined with the evils that are Pokemon and Yugioh cards. I will be strong and say no to the pleadings of my children, all of whom seem to think that happiness can be found in a packet of cards. I brave the halls of Target because their meat does not look disgusting, because I know where to find the mashed potato flakes, and because their deli does not apply the polychromatic spray to your sliced goods prior to wrapping them up. I go because their halls are wide, there is no music playing overhead, and because it's a different quality of white trash that shops there. But mainly, I go because there are no crazy ass poles in the middle of the aisles and no shopping carts that look like fun to my two year old. Yes, Target, I am coming for you, be prepared.

It's a better way to shop.

Today was a lovely surprise. If one does not listen to the weather reports, then one allows oneself to be pleasantly surprised by the weather. Nice day. I expected sub freezing temperatures, instead it was sunny with no wind and I think 40. Bye bye snow.

Took my wunderkinds to the guvment readin center today. All went well enough. Managed to find all of the books that were due back without having to go psycho on the child units. No fees this time around, there's a first. I also managed to find some neat books for Madeleine to read, which I suspect she won't as she had scared up quite a stack on her own. You never know, that kid eats books for breakfast, if I keep her bored enough she may get the crazy idea to actually look at some of the titles I pulled for her.

After the library, it was off to go Krogering.... I can feel your envy. The older four wanted to sit in the car and read, Eli wanted to go inside the store to drive me crazy. Lately he insists on the ginormous red plastic cart that looks to be a race car designed by a disturbed six year old future animator. It has six wheels, the middle axle sits taller than the front or back, causing the whole conflagration to be nigh well impossible to steer. It also is wider than the average cart, weighs more than the average cart, and holds fewer groceries. Perfect in so many ways, Eli shrieks at the top of his lunguals for several aisles if I dare to deny him the opportunity to ride in that sweet chariot.

So into the red retardo-mobile we go. What a workout. Krogers had decided to reorganize their entire store at once without closing, so every aisle was tore up something bad. I couldn't find anything. I couldn't get around all of their so called 'workers' standing in every aisle, not to mention their infamous displays and randomly placed poles. I couldn't get the cart to roll in a straight line, it was crabbing about 30 degrees to the right, causing me to look like I was hopelessly drunk, which I wish I had been. The way I had to zigzag down the aisles, I felt as if the fake steering wheel in the child seating area actually was hooked up to the wheels. After exhausting myself by having to drag that refrigerator sized piece of brightly colored plastic crap up and down every row twice I finally gave up on my list. I only have a limited time left on this earth, and I am not going to invest it in trying to guess where a crazy person would hide mashed potato flakes in a 50,000 item superstore.

Or at least I thought that I was going to leave, until I discovered that they were only willing to supply two checkers to the whole trying to escape public. For this level of service, perhaps they could cut their high end pricing a bit, a least down to the point where I wouldn't go into seizures whilst gazing at their grotesque meat case. I couldn't believe the prices on their green looking animal flesh. Disgusting quality, Confiscatory pricing. I salivate at the thought of returning.

Back home now. Offspring have had their learning for the day and are now running indoor laps. Wouldn't want to go outside and spoil all of that nature now would we?

Climate change.

Thank you Lord Jesus, for making February go away. I appreciate the onset of Marchiness. 70 degrees today. Yes, all of the snow has gone off to find the Ohio river and I have my lovely brown yard of mud back. What is that I hear? That's the sound of my furnace sitting still and of my propane tank not being drained. Winter is so ovah.

Do you get to drive past the bridge people on your way to work? These are the unemployed, homeless folk who are enterprising enough to scope out the ideal intersections on which to stand with a slab of cardboard that claims that they will willingly work for food. Apparently cash is not acceptable. Cash can in fact be used to purchase food. I notice that these vagabonds only seem to scope out the interchanges with a highest percentage of out of towners. I think locals don't pay up as readily. Driving past these places at all hours, I also notice that they have a definite schedule that does not involve nights or early hours. How long does it take to get enough dough to buy a bucket of KFC , a room at the Knights Inn and a bottle of hooch? Must be lucrative, else they would bother going into one of the fast food places advertising for help. One fellow summed it all up nicely, his sign just read 'Who am I kidding, it's for booze.'

Awkward moment at the Krogers yesterday. I was foraging for foodstuffs with the five monsters in tow. I was in high lazy mode, letting Lilly push the cart, Maddie was in charge of corralling Eli, who was tearing around pointing his forearm at everybody, shooting them dramatically with his forearm laser cannon. Joe and Mitch were going all sideways, blocking the aisles for the other shoppers, and I was stumbling out in front, fairly unconcerned about their whereabouts or what was happening to me. In the frozen fake chicken aisle, an elderly woman said something to me that I didn't quite hear due to Eli's loud shooting noises. I assumed that it was one of the usual comments about what a lovely family I have or being outnumbered, blah, blah, blah. I realized after a second that she had said that I was brave. Caught off guard, I kind of stopped walking and made my dog thinking face, which she interpreted to mean that I was offended. She said that she meant it in the best way possible, and then flustered, she walked right into a pole (Why on earth they can't locate those thingees in the middle of the shelves is beyond me. ) Needless to say, I then felt pretty stupid, as I had just injured someone with the sheer presence of my bulging family. Point is, even walking around looking stoned, those little ones keep tottering along, giving total strangers an excuse to inadvertently think that they insulted you, and then hurl themselves headlong into a stationary object.

Goodbye to all, and a passing farewell to W.F.Buckley, who died this past week during that horrid little month of February. Winter go home, or I'll sock you and you'll stay plastered.

That's where I wanna be...

Seven other things about me that you did not knoweth.

1. Where I come from isn't all that great,
2. my automobile is a piece of crap,
3. my fashion sense is a little wack,
4. and my friends are just as crude as me.
5. I didn't go to boarding school,
6. preppy girls never looked at me,
7. why should they, I ain't nobody, ain't got nothing in my pocket.

The secret to raising children.

1. Kids crap once a day, make sure someone else is in charge when it happens.
2. Child portions are half of an adult portion.
3. Delegate all of your most monotonous work to them as 'chores'.
4. Eight o'clock bedtime, regardless of age.
5. Lecture them to death, they will go to great lengths to avoid you.
6. Forced marches for fun and fitness.
7. Leave them to their own devices, you'll be surprised at what they'll learn.

It is windy today and warm. The children are busying themselves by flying 'kites' made out of old plastic grocery store bags and surplus yarn. Slow week at the shop, please send funds. Watched Fight Club last night and I loved it. Closing credits had my favorite Pixies song, Where is my Mind?, which makes me retroactively cool because I had no idea. Roast Beef, muenster cheese, and grilled onion bun sammies for dindin tonight, so special. Must go now or I'll be sucked into the inter-tubes and trapped forever.

Let me go back to work and get some Rest.

World's stupidest post: My thoughtlings on life.

Harrison Ford's gun in the Indiana Jones movies makes the most amazing cannon blast type noise. Imagine how the popularity of gun ownership would soar if you knew it would be so satisfying to hear yourself shoot things. Explains the popularity of the Harley-Davidson. Big noise make man parts happy.

What a kick ass weekend. Two, count em, two oil changes and a dental visit, all with five kids in tow and no other parent. I'm living a dream here.

Once again our forecasted ten inches of snow turned out to be half an inch maybe. I haven't touched a shovel yet this year. Let's keep it that way, shall we?

Been on a bit of a Rowan Atkinson kick lately. Can't explain it. It all got started with Keeping Mum, an excellent british black comedy which fooled me into accepting Rowan as someone I could possibly stand to watch. Rented the complete Bean television series next and got hooked on this sickness. Watched both Bean movies(horrible) and then a standup show compilation and last night The Black Adder, a brit sit com about medivial power plays, black plague etc. Tonight it will be Not necessarily the nine o'clock news, then Johnny English and then who knows what. Once I run out of material, I won't know what to do with myself. It'll be hard to replace that level of inanity.

The baby has taken to biting the other children. They are so busy laughing at him that he thinks that is okay to nosh on them. Put a hole in Lilly's shirt yesterday, was chomping on Joe's clothing today, just spied him clamping down on Maddie's butt. Kid needs a new hobby.

Was eating some leftover chicken potpie for lunch today when Eli strolls up and stands next to me and gets real quiet. Then starts the low level grunting. Charming dinner companion. I ask him what he thinks he's doing. 'I'm haking a hit' is his reply, then he continues with out missing a beat. I guess I'm not so hungry anymore.

I am so wonderful, so get over yourself already.

I have been chained to this computer by my spouse and will not be allowed to leave until I complete my assignment, an assignment of writing seven items of interest about myself ... seven items of interest, about myself. I have been at work all day, have to get up insanely early, and may have imbided in a wee bit of the alc-ahole. Oh, how I loathe the task set ahead of me. SHOOT ME NOW. (Cami says she will be happy to oblige)

1) I am not an interesting person. I have Five children. What do I do on weekends? I watch them, feed them, clean up after them and prepare myself for going to work and leaving them. How absolutely exciting for me. I go to approximately one movie a year. I eat out at a new restaurant approximately once a year. I do not travel, have hobbies or make small talk. I am a dullard.

2) I have very little identity outside of being an air traffic controller guy. No, I am not the fellow who holds orange cones aloft and waggles them at airplanes, nor am I the fellow who goes up into an air traffic control tower and observes actual airplanes, that would all be far too glamorous for me. Instead I am the schlep who works in a non-descript windowless, hanger sized, office building and who stares at a glorified computer screen, monitoring the progress of blips and then telling them what they may or may not do for eight hours a day. I, sadly, enjoy doing this form of 'work'. I, also sadly, will rarely turn down an opportunity to take a break from said 'work' and go to do nothing of any importance whatsoever.

3) I do not like children. I am not a fan. Like my spouse, I am indifferent to the plight of the altitudinally challenged. I will raise them, but that doesn't mean that I can stand all of their smelly little noisey crying brat antics. I do not approve. Children crawl the face of the earth, when they stop doing that they begin to get interesting. I hate Barney and all that he represents. As you may know, I also do not enjoy the childrens museum, the zoo, child oriented shows, movies, or theme parks, mini vans or kidz menus. To hell with all of em.

4) I am a crab. You may have guessed that one already. I have slammed chairs by their backs against kitchen floors whilst raving like a lunatic and choking on my own spit (Camis fault). I have smashed two by fours with my bare hands, out of frustration with my child's pediatrition. I have used foul language in front of my children in desperate attempts to coax learning out of them. I swear at other drivers continuously when I'm out driving. I bitch endlessly about the vicissitudes of daily life. Sometimes, it hurts to smile. I'm a people person.

5) I am a weenie. I cannot accept the sight of my own blood. I know that most people are not crazy about watching their life giving red jujubee juice spurt all over the floor, but I am very quick to go wobbly and light headed if I even gander at my fill tube during a blood draw. Surgery channel? Never. Alchohol must be administered if I plan on bleeding alot, this I hear is not a good combination. I hate doctors and all that they represent. Nothing personal, it's just gross.

6)I am not a social creature. I am extremely uncomfortable at parties, weddings, bars, get togethers, ceremonies, reunions, anything crowded, anything embarrassingly not crowded, or on the telephone. I am not a social lubricant. I need my wife to carry the chit chatting load. I have nothing of consequence to say to anybody, unless you're standing on my foot. I am the penultimate male, except I don't talk sports, the stock market or home improvement.

7)I break things. I have a curse upon me that causes everything that I touch to turn into something that is freshly broken. Handiness is not within my grasp. I will mentally tell myself to be careful placing an object on a shelf, and then I will go about having uncontrollable spasms that cause said object to go flying across the room to its gauranteed destruction. I break computers, cars, houses, clothing, lawnmowers, leafblowers, weedwackers, shovels, garage door openers, finances, furniture, anything you like. I am an equal opportunity destroyer. Whatever it is, I've probably ruined one or two of them. You're welcome.

That is all. I may have accidentially not of included anything very interesting, but if you've reviewed this list, you should be able to see that a tired worn out old ravelling of a man is not exactly two strippers and a keg of beer. Boris out.

How do you make a duck Fart?

Another Indiana blizzard. Hysterical weatherpersons and crushing grocery store mobs, all for a bit of freeezing rain and a dusting of snow, no accumulation. This is two in a row for our local forecasters. Their credibility is in the toilet from here on out, from now on I will view them the same as I view my car thermometer, always wrong by ten degrees. At least they have the whole glamour thing down, it's the only reason I watch anyway; check out the weather chika's hot weather girl body, sound optional. Similar to my daliances with Telemundo.

Major duck carnage up north of here a couple of days ago. Big cold front came crashing through and hurled little duckies everywhere. Apparently the wee beasties didn't read the tea leaves properly and get the duck out of here in time. Friend of mine had an impaled quacker lying in her front yard, piece o' the house siding stabbed clear through, well not through and out, it still had end bits sticking out of each side, like a rotisserie. Evening news featured this guys buddy sticking ass backwards out of the side of a house, driven head first and lodged into the building, ouch. I guess there was injured poultry lying all over the suburban landscape. I'm imagining bird brains everywhere, or Big Bird in a wood chipper.

I always assumed that birds had this innate sense of changes in the weather, frontal passages, troughs, convective activity, etc. and would therefore scatter before the chickadee hits the fan. I figged that their migrations were a sort of weather protection service. Ends up they have more in common with our local meteorologist's than I first theorized.

Being an air traffic controller, I often consider how birds in a flock are organized and how they go about not smashing into each other even when changing directions in seemingly random patterns. I am reconsidering this lofty height that I have placed these critters at. I now believe that they are possibly hitting each other countless times whilst in flight, and all of the directional changes are just a desperate attempt to avoid getting smashed on their morning commutes. Lots of wasted energy there. Group think, directionless travel, birds are like the animal kingdoms Borg.

Well, I gots to go. My work hole calls like the Lorelei from the rocky place, and I must go drive myself birdlike to my random destination.

Run for your Lives!

For Sale: Hyper intelligent two year old monster child from the bowels of Hell. Make an offer.

I am tired Okay? If anyone doesn't understand this, then you haven't been paying attention. So all I need is a wee little nap sometimes, you know, 20 minutes of shuteye in order to repair the brain. I'm not asking for much, just a cessation of hostilities for a bit, but will that tiny tenacious tyrant allow me a moments rest without consequences? No, he will not. My retarded mom senses kicked in today after their usual delay period to find him standing tippy toe on a chair stretching for the butcher knives hanging on the wall of the kitchen. Apparently, this tot believes that I must die for my sins of napping and interfering with his plans of household domination. I see that he has smeared an entire stick of cat butter all over a fresh pan of brownies too. Moments later I hear his siblings yelling at him for biting cords, my God, the cat is smarter than him. Now he's wresting control of the Wii controls from his elders so that he can stand there and do nothing with it as their characters die a quick and animated death.

So perhaps one could attempt to sympathize with me. Feel my pain, literally. Please come and get him. Any of you people who find him so charming in the shop... he's all yours, take it away. I need to find my rest, sleepy goodness; no danger, no disaster, no dementia ... before I'm dead.

Hot times in the city

I am having a hot butt right now. Sitting on a heating pad set to high, that is what America is all about baby. It feels so good. Who needs the Caribbean when you've got Walgreens? Can you tell that I'm embracing my impending fortyness? My rear is melting. I am tuning out the gang of five in the other room as they argue over the proper techniques for playing Mario on the Wii. It has been a three hour long discussion with no end in sight. I'm focusing on my searing bottom, it is so good, I am floating away from all of this cold, this noise, this mess. I don't care anymore. The cat can lick the butter on the island, I don't care. Hear that Dragonfly? Cat licking butter = I don't care.

My crawlspaces are getting insulated tomorrow, must get those cleaned out before the witnesses... eh hem, construction workers arrive. By the time the earth completes another revolution, I should have a much less drafty house. I suspect that I won't, but I am pretending that I will. Stuffing the heating pad into the back of my quilty flannel shirt now. Letting this warmth penetrate into my spinal cord, relax my nerve passages. Why does this feel like I'm cheating winter?

Found an old house in town for sale. It is a large four bedroom house, built in 1890, suffering from decades of neglect. It had been converted into three separate apartments with endless layers of white paint on the woodwork, eventually condemned by the city. Some outfit bought it cheap; new roof, siding, landscaping, paint, sidewalks, porch rebuilt, windows reconditioned. Outside is glamorous, inside is gutted and trashed. Very appealing to my moron side. It's red. I have a hard time resisting red. Almost has as big of a hold on me as shiny. I'm a fool for shiny. Anyone want to buy a house in the country, so that I can move into some dump in town? Didn't think so.

Wearing the pad like a bulletproof vest now. It's like wearing an electric bra. Wow, do I ever need a nap. I should bring this puppy to work, breaks would never be the same again. May have to crawl in bed and let the children fend for themselves. Goodnight goons, Dad out.

Scary tales from the Crypt.

Sitting home with the children. Yes, I know, it truly does sound glamorous, but it is not really as much fun as it sounds. No one will talk to me. They just want to be left alone with their Wii, or their reading, or coloring . I am quite bored to tears. Well at least there will always be chores, I am a lucky girl. Perhaps I'll make some of that disgusting vanilla bean coffee that makes Cami want to wretch, but that I am so fond of. Finding comfort in food... always works, don't it?

I can't possibly have anything to tell you about, as I have the worlds dullest existence. A guy riding a horse went by the house today. Holey Crap! Calm down, it only happened once, and the horse was walking slowly. An additional horse was following without a rider. That horse was a large animal with an enormous horse rear end part. Black too. Eli was scared and tried to climb up my torso for some sort of anti-horse protection. I have no idea what was so scary about a horse walking 200 feet away out on the road, but it had him and Jemimah both freaked out.

Saw something else pretty frightening this afternoon... Drunk neighbor Paul pulling out onto the streets of Podunkia. He is so slow and so in the middle of the road. If we notice him leaving, and believe me, we take great pains to notice him, we will reroute any trips out of the house for the next half hour or so. You will get stuck otherwise, and nobody wants to move at Paul speed. Paul speed is almost like traveling backwards in time. We have lived here for seven years now and he is still constructing his 'house', which is really more of a guard shack for his outdoor junkyard playland thingee. Yes, he does have an old broken down school bus too, just in case you were wondering about his redneck status.

Me and Maddie hit the dentist today for a cleaning. A cleaning out of my wallet. $250! for a six month checkup for two. Ouch. I think I should just draw straws to decide on which one of my children may have dental visits, and then just write the other four off as a lost cause.

Another Lillian drawing caught my eye today. It's a pic of a mad skeleton saying "Wars the Bafrom" which I believe means "where's the bathroom?", but only said more piratey. I keep seeing 'Barf room', which I guess is cause he looks bulimic. Probably he is just stress eating from having to sit alone all day with his kids again, and he wants to keep his model figure.

Well, I'm off to eat some carrot cake concocted by a twelve year old. Horses asses, drunken driving, Lara Flynn Boyle and highway robbery... told you it was a slow day. Pray for my intestinal fortitude.

Ooo, eee, ooo ah ah...

Welcome to Wednesday, the exits are located here (sick leave), here (suicide), and at the back of the workweek (Friday). Please refrain from adjusting your seatback into the person sitting behind you, as this may lead to uncomfortableness for others, as they will have to watch you be subdued by our crew with tasers. You are now free to move about the blog, though be advised, I am watching you and I am paranoid.

I had thought that my doctors office visit of last week involved some BS runaround, until we went to see a herbalist yesterday. I don't know how much to tell you about this, other than it seems to be a wee bit of loony toons mixed in with a spray of bat shit crazy. My witch doctor says that I have a paraplegic paralegal problem and that I may begin to resolve my electrical imbalances by taking a squeeze of blue potash once daily, or at least that is what I heard, it can be hard to follow someone when they are describing insanity to you in detail, from on the inside. Whatever, I'll give it a whirl, I'm sure in a month she'll have some unverifiable feedback on how I'm doing.

It was extremely difficult to control my face during her analysis. Between revulsion and laughter, I didn't know what to do with my mug. Should I look accepting, understanding, confused, or like I'm trying to ignore the guy wearing six coats wandering on the sidewalk downtown? I kept looking over to Cami, as in 'please help me!', but plastered across her countenance was the look of 'isn't it wonderful', mixed in with the doe eyed, worshipful stare of admiration. She was gloating over her new found friends ability to sense stuff, freakish stuff, much like her own talents for dowsing for water or talking to dead people. My children all looked more like me, similarly uncomfortable, though Eli was in full flirt mode: crazy or not, she was still a chick.

When we got home, we had nine bottles of various concoctions to open and my wallet was about $153 lighter. Had a slight mishap opening Mitch's jar of Red Ju Ju Bee Date Extract, ended up inadvertently flicking the eyedropper and getting Ju Ju Beed right in the eyes. I may have done irreparable harm to my mojo, don't know, I'll have to mention it on my next visit to the town lunatic.

Another horrible nights sleep. Eli just loves to reawaken me every 20 minutes or so. He likes to mix it up, too. One time it will be flutter fingers in your armpit, next time he'll wedge himself under your torso, and for the finale...big toe jambed in your buttcrack. At 2:12 am, I couldn't take it anymore, so I grabbed my pillows and went to sleep out on the loveseat. It has to be pretty bad to think that sleeping with your legs folded over on themselves is an improvement.

At 8:15 Cami came and found me, she who sleeps the enviable sleep of the drugged. She wanted to know why I didn't just go crash upstairs in the guest bed. This should give you an idea of how nonfunctional my brain is during the night watch, smoke detectors and knowledge of the floorplan of my own house are beyond me. I had totally forgotten that we even have a guest room, much less one with an actual made up comfortable bed. At least my inner idiot is self contained and not leaking out into the world.

Lil Bunny Foo Foo

Welcome to the future. Here it is 2008 and we are all flying to work in our floating cars, which never need expensive repairs and never ever crash horrifically as they are being piloted by stupid people who fly drunk at 100 mph below the posted airspeed limit in the middle of the airway while swerving erratically and who whip off all of the other commuters in a fit of overwound air rage based on their increased stress levels, caused by concern for their finances after discovering that floating car insurance is quadruple the rate of traditional auto insurance, and that floating cars are gas hogs that get about 1 mpg, and that the certification and maintenance procedures for a floating car are a bureaucratic nightmare, and that their POS Ford Hindenburg won't start in cold weather and that they still have 68 more payments that exceed their first house's mortgage payment, and you can see that this is going nowhere and Thank God we don't have flying/floating cars.

2008 is off to a bang with a fun trip to the local sawbones for a five kid checkup with a recreational throat culture extravaganza. I just wish that I had duck taped their hands to their legs, so as to prevent the inevitable collection of doctor's office contagions. Hopefully they didn't catch additional illnesses there while seeking their 'treatments'. $15 for medicine, $75 for prescriptions to get medicine. I get to miss a day of work... I know, boo hoo. But still, sitting home with five snot faced, coughing, bickering, ill mannered vagrants and waiting to see how long it will be until they infect me, does not exactly fit my definition of a 'perfect day'. I'm getting the general vibe of a zombie movie when all is lost and the heroes are just awaiting their indoctrination to the cultural proclivities of the undead masses (I, of course, am the hero).

2007 ended with a whimper as I feel that Christmas was a bust. My gift to Cami was an embareassment, and that is not a typo. The robe that I bought for her was labeled a 4XL so I thought I had the whole size thing covered. Only I was reading the handwritten size tag using my 'guy vision', which is wholly inferior to average 'chick vision'. WEP immediately recognized the scribbling as saying L/XL, which led to me immediately getting the cold steely glare of an unrestrained MyHusbandIsAMoronHowCouldIPossiblyHaveEndedUpMarriedToThisIdiot? look. Knee length for a rotund midget perhaps, this robe hardly covers her privates, any of em. Add to that its sicko pink color, the only one available, and I come across as some kind of pervert who's into the whole playboy bunny / homeless lady look, which for the record, I think that I am not, though I am not willing to commit to that answer as of yet.

We had an argument on Christmas Eve over the wrapping of the presents. Eli didn't shut it down until 11:30 pm and I was exhausted, having been awoken by a low battery warning from a random smoke detector at 2:00 am the previous night and having been up since 4:00 am for that pesky employment distraction. I did not feel that the wrapping of the presents would serve the children well, as we would be ridiculously overtired and possess zero coping mechanisms whilst the rug monkeys shredded the wrapped, for six hours, presents. I suggested that we instead bestow the children each with their very own plastic ToysR'Us sack full of loot, and indicate to them to put their trash in their very own Christmas bag for an orderly and convenient disposal process. Needless to say, this concept was not received favorably. After some tussling, we agreed to stacks of gifts versus sacks of gifts. Cami, I feel, was not debating from a position of authority, as she looked like the kid from A Christmas Story in his pink bunny suit, only pornographic...and pissed off.

Christmas morning. 2:43 am. I can't believe another freakin smoke detector has a low battery again. Why can't these flippin things go off during the awake hours? I don't feel that it is so important that sleep must be interrupted, not the precious sleep of two in the morning, the holiest sleep of all. Find flashlight, 9volt battery, step ladder, which detector is beeping, wait for it, is it this one? Nope, shuffle to the next one, wait for it...nope. Curse and repeat.

Christmas morning. 7:00 am. I can't believe the kids are still asleep, what is wrong with them? I get up and find Mitchell watching television. What is wrong with these kids? Hello. Big piles of junk in the other room. Finally they all arise and thus begins the destruction anew. We hold off on the Wii until 1:00 pm, pretending that there wasn't one. No one complains or acts disappointed, I wonder if I have foolishly parted with several hundreds of lira unnecessarily. And then it is over. Only 365 days til Christmas, better luck next year.

Trust me, I am a former Parking Garage Attendant.

Hi Ho reader. Have been unfaithful to the blog as of late, I is soooo busy being underwhelmed by life and all. Will attempt an update as of now.

Today was from hell, courtesy of the MIL. We went to a, God forbid, Children's Museum on our new yearlong family pass, and all I can say is that I feel that this will be a long year. First off, Thank You Connie for the wonderful tickets/pass/membership thingee, it is a lovely gift that will get used often enough by my wife and spawn. Please note that I do not include myself in this list of participants, as I find such places an unholy irritation, a blight on the face of humanity if you will.

Secondly, I would like to thank all of the wonderful people who work at the Children's Museum, volunteer or paid, no diff, Thank You for your efforts etc. blah blah blah. It appears to be a very safe and fairly sterile environment that attempts to impart some such wisdom on the teeming masses of hell spawn, collectively known as 'the chillren'. No person should have to undergo the daily mind sucking sound machine of 'kill me now' that is your existence. Thank You.

Thirdlyest, I would like to thank the great state of Indianapolis for providing the grounds, or the tax deduction, or whatever it is that you do, that makes such a monstrosity arise from the ashes of the near north side. It is wonderful in all of its nanny state like wonderfulness. I love it so much. (This I have to say lest the other parents think I'm a loon. Who doesn't LOVE the Children's Museum and ALL that it represents? Huh?! Are you questioning its supreme loveliness?!?)

That being said, I would just like to state that the entrance to your parking garage is one efffedd up mess. One does NOT have traffic flows switch sides of the road randomly as one is driving on your approach way to enter your garage. This is wrong and the designers of such a horrendous traffic pattern should be held accountable for this death trap that they have erected under the guise of a Children's Museum. I do NOT appreciate having the 'guard' question my sanity upon my arrival at said garage, after having to cross over the median to get to the entrance which is on the wrong side of the road. I refuse to believe that this 'guard ' has not seen this scene endlessly repeated as he stands at the entrance of said garage to stand guard against any would be terrorists who would want to blow up an unoccupied parking structure that is detached from any other buildings. Why the hell are you even standing there, if not only to mock the poor schleps who fall into your sick side-swiping, deranged, garage entrance kerfuffle anyway? Huh, answer me!

I also contend that my explanation for my behavior... 'uhhh, sorry, you know U.S. right, U.K. left?' was quite possibly the most illuminating lightning strike ever received by his brain. I am simply amazed that this reasoning had never been presented to him before. His look of disgust at my arrival, coupled with his look of thoughtfulness at my explanation, was truly a weird disconnect from the reality of his day to day existence. I am freaking out here. Had this thought never occurred to him before? Gee, I wonder why people do that whole driving to the wrong portal thing all of the time? What must not go on in this mans head all day? Needless to say, my enjoyment of said Children's Museum was soiled from the beginning.

Add to that, dozens of ADHD, Ritalin soaked monsters tearing it up, screaming directly at me, bouncing, literally, slamming around and into everything. Hogging exhibits, rude lil' bastards...listen people, I am not impressed with your offspring. Found one boy, or at least I think it was a boy, I mean it could of stood to wear a bra and all, crying for his/its school group. Dragged him over to a red phone and called security on his rear. Apparently, they are losing children all of the time at the Children's Museum, as they nonchalantly informed me that they would send someone over to collect him. I waited with him for the arrival of the authorities, but he was going all apey and batshit crazy and all, kept trying to get to the phone to talk to the operator, wouldn't stand still, wouldn't speak up above the nonstop roar of OPC to tell me if he was in fact a boy or a girl. I finally gave up and left him with what was presumably a member of the staff who was in fact wearing a banana sticker on her forehead, close enough to proper identification for me. Then we spent the rest of our time looking at the exhibits and listening to the intermittent paging every five minutes for 'anyone from school 51' to come and claim the biggen. Not the most sorely missed member of the entourage, I guess.

The place seemed to clear out around 2 p.m. as all of the government kids had to go back to their hangers to prepare for their dismissals upon the unsuspecting public. Lordy I wish that they wouldn't give group discounts, just ruins it for everybody else. Need to schedule institutional madness days and warn all others to STAY AWAY. I'm sure you've all seen it every where you go, too. I apologize for any contributions to this insanity that I may have made over the years. I promise to hermitatize myself in the future. Good day.

Basic Economics - by Thomas Sowell (read this and get back to me)

The youngest has taken to adjusting the thermostat in the house whenever it bloody well pleases him. I am returning home from outings to find the furnace pumping at full bore and the house at a balmy 84' (still need directions to the degree symbol, readers). I am not pleased with this development, as I already am sending a sizable portion of my income to the friendly propane company, and would like to retain what little remains to use to purchase food for my children. I find it particularly disturbing because I only notice it after an absence. I get to shiver all day in my tightwad temperature setting, and then I return and find the cat lying across the front door seeking relief from the excessive heat. Stupid cat.

Wow, am I ever in a bad food rut. I've been feeding these people whom I'm charged with the care of, fast food crapola almost every day of the week. I likewise, end up consuming said crapola. Then off I go to work to further pollute my body with cafeteria food, yes, food from a cafeteria, and all that that implies in its horrificness. This has to be a bad thing. Just don't have the time/gumption/support to cook anymore. If only somebody would consume voraciously for me. Come on Mitchell, you're practically a teenager, time to step up and wolf down. Madeleine, just once could you eat seconds. Lillian, mopey faced picking at your food is not encouraging to me. Joe, please stop announcing at the start of EVERY SINGLE MEAL that you 'hate' whatever it is that has been placed in front of you. Eli, stop everything, just take a day off would you? The house can be destroyed tomorrow, it can wait.

Nod to Cami. What does Lantern Moon care if you discount their wares in southern Indiana where the cost of living is significantly lower than the coasts? Are all of the people going to book cross country tour bus excursions to Franklin to get the illegally priced wares? Will you single handedly destroy all of the yarn shops that carry their overpriced crap, by selling it at a reasonable price? You must be stopped! Lantern Moon must wage war against you and other merchants who have the gall to think that prices are negotiable in a capitalist system. You WILL buy OUR needles and only offer to sell them at a price that no one will purchase them at. You will drain your shop of any remaining capital to accumulate more things that will not sell. I, at Lantern Moon, will feel self righteous at my refusal to deal with you, you entrtapeneur, enteepenuer, ontrapanuure, awh...piece of crap.

(spell check only recognized the third term as meaning entrepreneur) Later losers, love Boris.