Scratchy Glitter

Observations for the easily irritated.

Category: Conspiracy News

The Ramblings of a Basement Blogger

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Photo by Pixabay on

Photo selected because my hands look a lot like this, including the current nail polish (Rocky Rose by Essie). (They do not give me money or free nail polish for this endorsement.)

After some weeks of being galvanized into inaction, I could not help being stirred to its opposite by Trump’s communications director (who has yet to do her job and hold a press briefing) commenting that the impeachment investigation resembles “the ramblings of a basement blogger.” On behalf of all basement bloggers, I must object. Actually, I don’t have a basement. I have a crawlspace. But this is not coming to you from the crawlspace, but from my office, if you can call it that. It has as many spiderwebs as a crawlspace, though. ANYWAY, it seems to me that the people who are “rambling” are the ones who keep spouting debunked conspiracy theories, and that would be the Republicans.



“Want to brain better? Take our supplement!” If your supplement worked, you’d realize that “brain” is not a verb.

“What happy tastes like.” HappiNESS.

In other advertising news, “Try our Christmas pancakes, covered with elf sprinkles!” makes me think that elves leave their droppings there. They’re round and red and green.


I am mourning the loss of my beloved Briar Rose and Service Cat, Esmerelda, gone too soon from kidney disease. Black and white, introverted but intense, she had weaning issues and suckled on my hand several times a day for all of her 11 years.

She was the one who chose me at the shelter, and that’s hard to get over.

On her last day, she had catnip in the sun.

As Rom wrote in his elegy for her, she was the “harlequin companion we treasured for awhile.”




Creepy Eating at Taco Bell

portrait of young woman with umbrella

Photo by Pixabay on

No, the person in the picture is not me, although I can see why you’d think so.

I decided to eat at Taco Bell yesterday, because I wanted the one thing they could offer me–a chicken quesadilla (the one at Taco John’s has stuff in it I don’t like that looks like boogers).

Since it was raining, the helpful bus driver actually drove me across the street to get me nearer to the desired location. Taco Bell on St Joe (as opposed to the evil one on Lloyd which removed its attendant KFC–why would you want Taco Bell if you could get KFC?) has two entrances, one from the parking lot and one from the street. I, naturally, chose the latter. Walked in the door, and the manager LOCKED THE DOOR AFTER ME. This was disconcerting, especially since I was the only customer, but I was determined to have that quesadilla. (Doesn’t that sound like a relative of the armadilla?) The manager then walked over and locked the other door also. I thought, What is this? Some kind of Stephen King deal? The horrific ARMADILLA will burst through the floor tiles and devour me? I thought of demanding to be let out at once, but I was determined to have that quesadilla. I didn’t bolt it down in a panic, either. I had to shrug my shoulders at several puzzled customers who tried the door and couldn’t understand why I was in there eating alone, as if I’d reserved the place. Then another employee asked the manager, “Why is it locked?” and she said something about “they’ll track across the lobby.” So she was planning to NOT LET ANYBODY IN until it stopped raining. She abandoned this plan when she saw that everyone who tried the door did not just go through the drive-through instead, as she’d been hoping, but left, no doubt to go to Taco John’s in the next block, which was letting people track across their classy CARPETED lobby.


Are we alone now? Is Mark Zuckerberg gone? Good. Today marks the end of Facebook automatically notifying my tiny helpless group of Facebook friends every time I write a new blog post. Facebook has decided that a blog is a Commercial Enterprise, rather than a personal one. This is news to me, since I make no money off it. They say it’s in the interest of not annoying people with unwanted commercial content, which could, as it happens, be allowed to annoy people anyway if I gave Facebook some money. “If you’re a public figure, it’s to your advantage to turn your Profile into a Page!” they say. I ask you–am I a public figure?

Anyway, I am just going to manually link my blog posts to my Facebook feed until they make me stop that, too. I am encouraged by the fact that, since I resumed illustrating the blog, Facebook has started labeling it as a “photo” instead of a “post.” They allow photos, right?


I dreamed that the government set up totalitarian rule, and I tried to warn Nick about it, but they seized my papers and computer. Maybe Nick was actually IN ON IT.

Just remember: armed henchmen sent by the public sector are “jackbooted thugs;” if sent by the private sector, they are “hired goons.”

–Donald Trump sends someone to seize my stuff = jackbooted thugs.

–Mark Zuckerberg sends someone to seize my stuff = hired goons.






I Remembered To Show Up



…is what Rom says this is.

Brought to you courtesy of Nick, who showed up at my door on my birthday with a gift bag full of apple ale clenched in his teeth, before flying away. The bag was black and had scratchy glitter on it. I suspect this was deliberate. Have you noticed that such bags always have the scratchy glitter on one side, but are smooth on the other side, so that glitter doesn’t rub off on your clothes? Why do I always have to touch the glitter anyway, even though it makes me shudder?

I have had 2 cans of ale (my normal dose), which makes me want to spend money on something self-indulgent. Last year it was green-and-white gingham shorts, but I resisted the temptation. (I love green-and-white gingham, and plaid with a black background. These prints give me a feeling of security. They’re like the opposite of the Baby Corn and the Union Suit. Anyone remember those? Check the posts under Conspiracy News for more info.)Now am tempted by some Keds in Iris Shimmer, and an Almond Cucumber perfume sample, even though I tried the AC perfume before and it didn’t work for me. Almond and cucumber are my comfort notes (kind of like the Magic Prints noted above), so I keep thinking, But it has to work! Sometimes perfume just refuses to cooperate.

OK, I hit some key that keeps deleting stuff I didn’t intend, and I don’t know what I hit, so I can’t correct it, and that is why the above paragraph is incorrectly punctuated.


“Schoolwork, one and one is two

But you know that now that’s just not true”

Yes, it is true. Your ingestion of LSD does not affect its veracity.


Rom says that “When the Music’s Over–turn out the lights” makes him think, “turnip delight.” You’re welcome. I hope I can forget that before I listen to it again.

Today is the 2nd anniversary of Alien Finger, which is celebrating by being stiff and sore, which I suppose is appropriate. I keep reading about people who dislocate a finger, pop it right back in, and it’s good as new. What’s their secret? Youth, probably.

Today is Pentecost, which makes me think, “Here he comes to save the day! That means the Paraclete is on his way!”

Long ago, my cousin Becky (hurray for Facebook and cousin Linda, who helped me discover cousins on the Forbidden Side of the family!) asked me, “Do you miss working?” After long thought, I can say I sometimes miss having a job (a Purpose in Life and all that, though I never thought of 911 as that purpose), but I don’t miss having that job. As I think every time I go by Dispatch on the bus and think, Glad I’m not answering phones in there.


I visited this fine establishment on Cinco de Mayo. Since it was Saturday, I had church, and couldn’t go to Hacienda and have a strawberry daiquiri, which would have been the logical thing to do. Although people might have been drunk at St Boniface Church before.

Taco John’s has been around since 1969, although Rom can’t remember it the year he graduated from high school. The identity of Taco John is mysterious. I imagine him being kind of like Johnny Appleseed.

TJ’s is the only carpeted fast-food place I know of. Like the Women’s Hospital, the addition of carpet adds a certain cachet. It’s almost like you’re at home, except that someone cut into your abdomen. At the hospital, I mean, not at Taco John’s.

My softshell taco was very good, especially since the clever person who assembled it added a tuck-and-fold technique that meant I didn’t have to balance it carefully to keep everything from falling out the end. That must have been a Cinco de Mayo special, though, since it has fallen out the end every other time I’ve been there.

Ah, Potato Ole’s. The old Mexican classic of disc-shaped Tater Tots sprinkled with Lawry’s seasoned salt. Cinco de Mayo marked the first time I have ever finished an order. And if you put cheese on them, you are gilding the lily. And if you put bacon bits, donut bites, icing, and chocolate on them and EAT THEM FOR DESSERT, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

TJ’s has a senior discount of 10%. I forgot to add discount information when I wrote about Taco Bell, but that was because I got 10% off there once, and the next time I requested it, the manager said they didn’t have a discount. Maybe I just looked too young.


I am actually not against leggings as a lower half, as long as you wear a butt-covering top. But today I saw a woman who did wear a butt-covering top, but then knotted it up in the back, because she got dressed and thought, “Oh no! Now no one can see my butt!”

Speaking of entities trying to defy me, the roses in my yard, which normally bloom in mid-May, burst into glorious bloom simultaneously on THE DAY AFTER MY BIRTHDAY.

Spellcheck thinks “donut” is not a word. I don’t know what to tell it.

WordPress has an icon in the corner that says “Stress-Free Writing Experience.” I have to find out what that might be, but I am too stressed-out at the moment. As is Alien Finger.



Blogging Addiction

I was digging through some stuff from my retirement party (YES, IT WAS LAST JUNE, WHY DO YOU ASK?), and came across an unsigned note expressing the hope that I would “keep feeding our blogging addiction.” I sure hope no one’s actually addicted to this thing. They must be in a bad way by now.


Career for Taurus: “Form a partnership with a talented chum and invest last year’s savings in a doll hospital.” Is there even such a thing? I had no pal talented enough in ’78 to tell me. Good thing I didn’t invest ’77’s savings, if any. I think I was unemployed most of the year, except for the summer spent at the massage parlor. This is where having lower-upper-class parents comes in handy.

Interior decorating for Sagittarius: “Old piano covers can still be found at thrift shops, make an interesting centerpiece for your living room.” I’ll say. What do you do with those, anyway? Wouldn’t you have to buy a piano? Or do you just pile them up on your coffee table?


A t-shirt I saw an ad for saying “I Pooped Today.” For one thing, wouldn’t you have to wear it most days? I refuse to define myself by whether I’ve pooped on any given day.


“Discover your sexy.”

“Realize your awesome.”



In March 2013, I was preoccupied with a sign I saw advertising the Grim Reapers’ house party. Especially since they forgot to include the date.

In April, in honor of Nick’s recent birthday, I admitted that I owed a whole room of dispatchers dinner from Canton Inn because I hadn’t realized that his message “Going to Canton. Jealous?” was actually an offer to bring us some. I also noted, based on bitter experience, that my beloved Woa Dip Har was impossible to eat at work. Reading that gave me a voracious desire for Woa Dip Har, now that I don’t work (unless you call writing this post work), but I fear it will remain forever unsatisfied.

The actual date I was writing was the birthday of the Foxy Lady, whom I called “my fellow connoisseur of the absurd.” In her honor, I illustrated the post with a picture of a stir-fry captioned “Uploaded to Wikipedia to showcase baby corn.” And what deserves to be showcased more?


Look, Nick’s on TV!

–Rom said he thought Mark Wahlberg wasn’t yanking the chain hard enough, but then said, “Well, then he might choke the poor thing.” The poor thing in question has actually gotten somewhat bigger since then, so the ears don’t look so prominent, and the barbs on the tail had not yet developed. And no, I can’t move the video closer to the top of the post, and in fact, for all I know, it might not even play once I hit “Publish.”


–Trying to guess which people belong to which vehicle: The pickup with Browning Buckmark logo (designed by my brother-in-law!) and “REDNECK” across the back windshield? Probably the guy with the t-shirt that says “Her Buck” on it. Probably not the skinny guy with long blonde hair, Indiana Jones hat, and tie-dye Allman Brothers t-shirt, although I bet he’s a redneck also.

–A couple snuck in the back door of McDonald’s with food from somewhere else, including chips and drinks, and settled down to eat it at a back table. They even grabbed a bunch of McDonald’s napkins.

–Kids’ lives are filled with nagging. “Is that yours? No? Then don’t grab for it.” “Don’t do that, it’s gross.” After all, how else will you learn what’s gross? There might be another culture in which licking the condensation off the outside of your drink cup is perfectly acceptable.

A CAN OF BABY CORN WAS SIGHTED IN A CERTAIN PERSON’S LOCKER. THE CONSPIRACY LIVES ON IN MY ABSENCE. See ancient posts tagged “Conspiracy News” for details. Don’t know how to look those up? Neither do I.

Turn Me Loose!

…I’ve gotta have it my way, or no way at all! So it is, and so it shall be, to quote Patti Smith.

Yeah, I’m on vacation, and yeah, I’m drunk, as Nick so astutely noticed, since he’s all astute and stuff.

You gotta love when your husband comes in and says, “Well, you stepped in it.” Stepped in WHAT? I should know after all these years–a hairball. Remember the ongoing philosophical debate–which hairball is worse to step in, fresh and warm, or old and icy-cold?


“Hey now baby, get into my big black car…I just want to show you what my politics are.” Courtesy of Cream, and I think of it often in this electoral season.

Hey, how long has it been since we had a CONSPIRACY POST? Anyone remember the
Baby Corn?

OK, I just almost choked on my drink. This is NOT FUNNY. In fact, it’s kind of painful.

Anyway, I now announce that, considering the dearth of acceptable candidates, I unhesitatingly support A CAN OF CREAMED CORN for President. Any can will do.

I’ll write later if I think of something to say.


…Courtesy of the people at some laundry-product company. A woman SNIFFS THE CROTCH OF HER PANTS and says, “These pants have that yoga smell!” Um, that’s not what we call it. She then sniffs the area again after laundering and says, “Now I don’t smell like wet dog!” Um, that’s not what it smells like.

I Only Have 25 More Years To Live

…according to a life-expectancy calculator in Time magazine, which predicts my demise at the age of 84.2. But there’s so much I haven’t done! Most things, in fact.


A couple people have mentioned that I really should have expanded upon the list of various ant types previously posted. At the risk of encouraging you to expect actual effort from me…

–Argentine ants: Really? We don’t have enough of our own?

–Ghost ants: Obviously, the ghosts of ants we’ve previously killed.

–Cornfield ants: Equally obviously, in league with the Baby Corn.

–Pavement ants: Um, have all you ants noticed that there isn’t any pavement inside my house?

–Acrobat ants: What, swinging through the air? How about just hanging out with the pavement ants and leaving me alone?

–White footed ants: As Rom said, “Who would notice?”

–Little black ants: You know, that’s how I’d describe most of them, actually.

–Odorous house ants: Do they fragrance your home? That might be worthwhile.

–Crazy ants: Let’s think long and hard about what would constitute craziness in an ant. Not caring about the welfare of the Queen?

–Big headed ants: But what if they have big heads and white feet?

–…and other sweet eating ants. Sounds like something you’d put over ice cream.


Actually, it could have been told at any point between now and, well, about 1830 last Saturday. Nick was having trouble talking to me on the air because he was choking on a donut. You read that right. I can see the headline now. “AREA COP CHOKES TO DEATH ON DONUT. He died as he lived, sources say.”  Yes, I’ve been reading the Onion lately, why do you ask? Good artists borrow, great artists steal! (I borrowed that from Stephen Colbert, but I don’t know who he stole it from.)

User’s Guide 2.0

Brought to you by Redd’s Apple Ale–now in cans for my convenience! Ooh, the pull tab is red–how exciting! It’s not quite cold yet, but I’m carrying on bravely anyway. And I have a new can cozy, which I paid 99 of my own cents for, because the one I got from my stepdaughter (by saying, “Are you going to use this?”) is wearing out under the strain of too many cans of Diet 7-Up.

Yeah, I’m on vacation again, hence the apple ale.

It occurs to me that I can indeed offer useful information for new readers, by repeating/refreshing the old information. So here goes:


I like to say I invented the blog, which causes people to raise their eyebrows and edge away slowly. S.G.. was originally an e-mail sent out to a dozen or so co-workers beginning in 1990, when we were going through a stressful (made extra-stressful by bad management) transition time at work. You can find an account of that buried somewhere deep in the archives. I know I’m supposed to link to it, but I can’t figure out how to do that, which is something you’ll get used to after awhile. This publication was eventually transferred to the Internet, where it has a readership of, oh, about the same as it had back then.


You can, I’m pretty sure, click on these and get posts that feature the type of material you’re seeking (or the type you’re seeking to avoid, like if you’re sick of reading about Nick. I must caution you, however, that many posts fit into more than one category, so your avoidance may be incomplete.)

CRISIS IN PROGRESS: Stories of the bizarre and infuriating from the world of 911. The title derives from a button I saw at a truck stop, on the way to a mandatory training session. No, the session was not held at a truck stop. It would have been less boring if it had been.


I often forget to use this. Work-related misinformation.


They used to always keep things hush-hush, because “We don’t want rumors to get started”–unaware of the fact that THEY GET STARTED ANYWAY. Caution when perusing this section–sometimes I start them myself.


Material dealing with the aforementioned Nick the Beast, a member of the police department and licensed to tase and stuff. He started life as a dispatcher, and was so impressed with me when I trained him (an experience I have absolutely no memory of), that he set himself to befriending me by the time-tested method of Cornering & Pestering, and I’ve been making him pay for it ever since.

FANBASE FOLLIES: Material about you, the readers. Whether callous neglect or feverish up-sucking, my temperament is to believe in extremes, as R.E.M. says.

LET’S GET SERIOUS: Just what it says. I’m outraged, or at least indignant, about something, and you need to know.

MILDLY AMUSING ADVENTURES: My daily life outside of work, about which some people care, for some reason. I have many opinions, and you have to read them all here. Otherwise you’d never know, since I don’t talk.

SOCIAL PAGE: Again, just what it says. Reviews of any social event I’ve been invited to. These are few and far between.

STAB FROM THE PAST: Past history (um, what other kind is there?).

WORLD LEADER PRETEND: The title is another theft from R.E.M. What I’d do if I ruled the world.


In a world of countless conspiracy theories, I add my own. This one has the advantage of being completely made up. As World Leader, I battle my nemeses the Baby Corn (in the spring/summer) and the Dancing Union Suit (fall/winter), with the aid of my faithful companion, reader, and former co-worker the Foxy Lady, who actually came up with these entities.(Not only do I make stuff up, I steal a lot.)

I’m thinking of adding a new category, WATCH OUT–I’M DRUNK!, which is, again, self-explanatory, although that won’t stop me from attempting to explain it.

OK, tune in at sometime in the future for ACTUAL CONTENT! Although I can’t guarantee I won’t wander back here when I’ve finished this can of ale. Off to try nail-polishing under the influence–try this only at home!

The Imp of the Perverse Battles the Baby Corn

Pretty cool title, huh? They should give me a job just thinking up titles for stuff. This was a title for a superhero comic I thought up, which was stymied by my inability to draw.

The calendar on my computer says “You have 2 birthdays in the next 2 weeks.” Nonsense. I know I only get one birthday per year.

This is Emergency Telecommunicators Appreciation Week, or whatever its official name is, which I am not experiencing in person, because I’m on vacation, because Telco Week (Telco! it sounds like a laundry detergent) (or a superhero) falls during Holy Week, as it so often seems to do. Perhaps this is because we are like the voice of God to police officers. (Don’t raise that eyebrow at me, Nick, or I’ll smite you.) But perhaps another appellation would be more apt, as I saw on the Diary of a Mad Dispatcher Facebook page (go there! you’ll be glad you did!)–“911–The Voice in the Dark.” Creepy, huh? But that doesn’t really describe my colleagues on day shift, does it? Perhaps “911–The Voice in Your Head.”


My whole day was thrown off last week because the green turtleneck I’d planned to wear turned out to be dirty, so I had to wear my other turtleneck (the line it was drawn, the curse it was cast, I’d already planned on wearing a turtleneck and THERE WAS NO GOING BACK), which was purple, but the socks I had on were green to match the first turtleneck, and THERE WASN’T TIME TO CHANGE THEM OR I WOULD MISS THE BUS.


–Sign at McDonald’s: “Good Friday Special–$100 Egg and Cheese Biscuit.” Yes, I think paying $100 for a biscuit would be penitential. No, I did not avail myself of this special, because it would involve being awake before 10:30, and WHAT ARE YOU THINKING OF?

–A guy on a red scooter with his red jacket streaming out behind him like a cape. Another superhero–Red Scooter Man! His arch-nemesis–Yellow Scooter Man! (Rom, who is so ate up about safety that he bought a yellow scooter and wears yellow or orange when he’s on it, even though these are his least favorite colors). {let us all pause while I try to figure out how to punctuate a sentence fragment} Rom leads a double life–he also has a criminal identity, Dogbite McBride, and his Red Shirt Gang. Maybe I could write a comic book on this topic, too. I got a head full of ideas that are driving me insane! If you start me up, I’ll never stop, never never never stop–ahem.

Our next door neighbors are having an Easter party and setting off fireworks, which are intended, I suppose, to scare Jesus back into the tomb. Did you know that if he comes out of the tomb and sees his shadow, we’ll have 6 more weeks of winter?



Mardi Gras: The Great Beer Experiment

I am observing Fat Tuesday (remember the World Leader Edict–observing it the previous weekend doesn’t count) by staying safely at home and drinking my remaining 3 apple ales from my Valentine 6-pack. Let’s see what happens, shall we? Probably nothing, but you never know, I may go out in the front yard and raise hell. And then the police will be called. And I will say to them, “Do you know who I am??” and things will go downhill from there.


Still typing pretty fast.

I got my first smartphone, at long last, and it appears to be smarter than I am. It and I are still getting to know each other. There are many interesting things you can now do to a photograph. I understand the allure of Sepia (make things old-timey!) and Negative (make everything look creepy!) but not of Aqua. (“Hey, look we’re underwater!”?) And what exactly does Solarize mean? Posterize apparently means “make everything look like a bad 60-s era picture.” “Press button to rotate camera.” Why would I want to–oh no. It’s for the dreaded selfie. Look at that face. Now I see why I keep getting offered senior discounts I don’t even deserve yet. Hmm, I look better in Negative. Accentuate the negative. And why won’t it let me Solarize or Posterize myself? Anyway, earlier I took an adorable picture of Rom sleeping on the couch, resting his broken leg, with his faithful calico cat upon him. (My faithful black-and-white cat is not a lap cat, which I suppose is no more than I deserve, since I’m not a lap person.) (Speaking of which, a minor leg fracture takes 4-6 weeks to heal, which is a LONG  time to go without…oh, never mind.)


I have an hour to finish off these bottles before Rom gets back in here to make dinner. Won’t he be surprised? So that’s 1/2 hour for each. Time to get goal-directed.

I’m feeling a little blurry around the edges.

Did you know cats can tell if you’re drunk? It’s true.

This bottle cap didn’t want to come off, but I prevailed, with the help of a towel. Woman is a tool-using animal, at least when there is no man around to do it for her.

The cat (black and white) wants me to play with her. Can do! I just rustle some paper and she goes crazy. I don’t even need to get up. Which is a good thing.

I finally figured out (yesterday) how to cut open a packet of soy sauce with a scissors without spilling any! I am learning useful life skills. Maybe I’ll have them all mastered by the time I die.

25 minutes left to finish this bottle. I’d best get to it. Apple ale tastes really good. I hope I get strawberry ale for my birthday.

What should I do now? Listen to music? Rom has some of that New Orleans music (I forget what it’s called) but I don’t like that. Maybe my “More Cowbell” anthology, which has “Mississippi Queen” on it. But if I listen to music, I might forget to get the 3rd bottle, and we can’t have that.

I have the feeling this is like “Flowers for Algernon,” and I’ll get progressively stupider as this post proceeds. Don’t you love a drunk who keeps talking about how drunk they are? I guess it beats being a drunk who calls 911 and claims not to be drunk, as they usually do. Hey, I’m doing research, so I’ll understand my callers! Maybe I’ll call 911. It wouldn’t be the first time.

20 minutes left, have I finished a third of this bottle yet? I’m not good with math.

Have I reached a new low point yet? Remember, I warned you at the outset that this blog would be self-indulgent. Of course, so are they all. And of course, no one requires that you read it. Until I actually do rule the world, of course.

Speaking of which, Baby Corn has been sighted at the bottom of an order of Chinese food (not mine). It was lurking in the hope of going undetected. Its time will soon be here. Although it doesn’t seem like it, what with all this snow and stuff. Which I, like everyone, have had enough of.

8:16 and I’m not half done yet! Maybe speed-drinking would be a bad idea.

Dear FanBase, I am sorry that I post so seldom these days.

Drunk texting–a good idea? Or not?

I guess not. I just tried texting to a landline. The phone should have a “Go home, you’re drunk!” tone. Oh wait, I am home.

I am lucky there’s not a feature saying “Rate This Post.” I guess the comments section would cover that.

It is significantly more difficult to stand up now that it was the last time I tried it. But I managed it.

8:31! I’ve not even finished the 2nd bottle! I am a weenie girl, as a Certain Person would say. Oh wait, girls don’t have weenies.

I will just have to keep up my momentum through dinner, I suppose. Rom can’t blame me, since he gave me the 6-pack. Of which I am only drinking half, I hasten to remind you. At this time, I mean. I drank the other half on 2 previous occasions.

I seem to have lost momentum. Should I hit “Save This Post” and then go on Ebay? I can’t think of anything I need, but they probably have something.

Did you know that everything tastes great when you’re drunk? I can hardly wait for dinner.

Apple ale sounds like it wouldn’t have much alcohol, but that’s not true. At least not for a weenie girl such as myself.

Did you know women are the original pussies? It’s true.

I’m beginning to sound like Poor Richard’s Almanac. Or maybe like a writer of fortune cookies. Did you know that they’re written by professional writers, and not by Chinese fortune-tellers? Speaking of which, my fortune cookies last night said,

1. “You have executive ability.” Yeah, that’s why I’m not a supervisor, and

2. “Better caution at first than tears afterwards.” That’s true in so many situations. I can think of one right now. Where I wasn’t cautious, I mean.

Perhaps I should become a writer of fortune cookies. They certainly wouldn’t be any worse. I’ll look into it.

Time to get the last bottle! Wow!


Did you know that my house has lots of corners that it’s hard to get around?

This stuff tastes very good.

Rom will be here in 10 minutes. I have no hope I can finish this bottle before then, but I’ve opened it, so I’m committed to a course of action.

Feeling a little dizzy. By the time you read this, I may be dead.

I got up to pet the cat and almost tipped my chair over. But I didn’t, so there’s hope.

I have 3 bottle caps on my desk. For some reason, I keep forgetting to throw them away, although I do remember to dispose of the bottles.

OK, this property is now occupied by one guy with a broken leg and one drunk. It’s like the blind leading the naked (which is the title of a Violent Femmes album, lest you think I cleverly thought it up myself).

Did you know the Violent Femmes came from Milwaukee, like I did? Came from Milwaukee, I mean.

It’s 9:00! Rom will be wondering why I have the hiccups.

I have had 2 1/3 bottles so far. I wonder if Stewart/Colbert will be more or less funny in my current condition.

FanBase, I wish you were with me. This stuff is so good.

Rom is here! Time for an intermission…

By the way, did you know you don’t have 4 kidneys?

And I’m bumping into things?

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