Effluvia

It would seem that Beth has quit the business again. This would be more upsetting if she hadn't done it, like, twenty-six times in the past. I predict she will resurface, redesigned, within a month. Come back when you feel up to it, Beth; we will miss you.

I don't know, but this may be the best movie ever made: The Adventures of Joe Dirt. Be sure to do the thing where you can add a mullet to the picture of your choice. Highly recommended.

Journal Roulette

stranger.than.fiction - This one looks pretty good, actually. That's always a surprise.

Siobhanorama!

Siobhan purchased thirteen yards of fabric. That's a lot! What can you even do with that much fabric? You could, like, rap a body in that much cloth and bury it. Whole bunch of fabric, buddy.

The Coworkers
Ain't Cool Dep't.

Jonas Salk found a cure for polio. Einstein worked out relativity. And one of my coworkers figured out how to imbed a music file in a website. Yep, buddy, all you gotta do is write the memoirs. Idiot.

Two Years Ago
Some pictures, and I do some stuff. Not too exciting.

One Year Ago
Books, movies, a sinus infection...also not very interesting. Late March is a dull time of year.

[This was meant to be posted yesterday but, you know, technical difficulties and shit. Just keep telling yourself, "I'm reading this on Wednesday."]

Um, yeah. Nothing's happening. It's been a very quiet few days. Sonya's tooth (or lack thereof) seems to be much better, even though she still has to chew with the opposite side of her mouth. I drank wine and cooked some steaks and we watched the first season of Sex and the City on Sunday. Monday I got Sonya's car washed and its oil changed. And I mailed a package. Practical, but not terribly interesting. Yesterday I had to skip My Little Reading Group but it turned out everyone else did too so we're rescheduling that...today it rained like a motherfucker. All day long. It's rainy, too. I got paid, though, so that's good.

In the total absence of content I'll now make something up.

I came home the other night and Sonya was standing outside our building, holding a piece of paper and stroking her chin speculatively.

"What?" I asked.

"They've taken Roxy."

"Who?"

"The goddamned space monkeys."

"We knew they might try something like this eventually," I said slowly, "but they've overstepped their bounds this time."

Sonya turned for the stairs. "Let's go suit up."

Twenty minutes later we were standing outside the Banana Cluster, a bar near the Seventh Street Wharf.

"Weapons?" I asked.

"No," Sonya said decisively, "those are for later. We just want information here."

I shrugged. "It could get messy."

"I hope so," she said and pushed the door open.

Conversation stopped. The jukebox was turned off. The bartender dropped a glass.

"All right, you monkeyfuckers," Sonya yelled, "I'm looking for my dog. Now you can tell me where she is or I can beat you into a greasy spot on the floor and then you can tell me where she is. It's up to you."

It was quiet. These lowlifes had obviously heard of us.

Finally, one slope-browed, hydroencephalic goon stepped forward. He grinned through toothless gums.

"Gon' eat yo' dog," he gobbled.

You know in The Matrix where Keanu Reeves flies through the air, repeatedly kicking the shit out of whoever is in the way of his feet in defiance of gravity and all the laws of physic? Sonya did that. The goon slid bonelessly under the pool table.

"Let me write down some directions for you," the bartender offered.

An hour later we crept in to an underground bunker north of the lake. There, working some evil-exuding extraterrestrial equipment, was a lone warrior space monkey. In a small carry-kennel in a corner of the room we saw Roxy. She wagged her tail delightedly when she saw us but didn't make a sound; she just kept chewing and scratching at the bars of her cell.

"I've seen him before in Memphis," Sonya whispered, "that's Gibbor, a high-rolling space monkey if ever there was one."

"Look's like he's alone," I observed, "plan three, then?"

"Yeah," Sonya nodded slowly, "and the dog might help out, too."

I slowly worked my way halfway around the room in the shadows. When I was in position I looked back at Sonya. She gave me the thumbs-up.

"Hey, Gibbor!" I yelled.

I gotta give him credit: he was monkey-fast. He had his laser pistol up and aimed at me in a second.

"Eeep eep!" eeped Gibbor.

The sound of the safety being switched off on Sonya's M-16 was loud, intentionally done and meant to draw the chimp's attention. Gibbor swiveled around to look at Sonya and he knew that he was dead monkeymeat.

"Get your feces-flinging hands off my dog you damned dirty ape!" Sonya roared.

Gibbor tried to bring his gun around but even as he started to turn Roxy, free from her prison and leaping through the air, tore the weapon from the evil primate's hand.

Sonya gave him the full clip in the chest. I was carrying the sawed-off - I'm a traditionalist - and I took him out at the knees.

Before we left I packed the place with plastique and the low constant booming of the exploding bunker accompanied us to the car.

"Roxy, you want a treat?" Sonya asked, "you deserve one!"

"Woof!" said Roxy.