It Could Be Worse Somehow

My love, Echinoia Eeeps disappeared right after supper last night, leaving behind only a faint odor of stale fart. If this is going to be her stage act, I'm guessing that it could use some work yet, though you won't ever catch me saying so out loud, knowing what those fists of hers can do.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps had to go on vacation without me because I refused to leave without my pants, no matter how "cute" she thought that would be. Now I can hang out at home without pants for two weeks and just relax, enfolded in layers of completely private cuteness.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps is hoping to start a new religion, possibly centered around apple pie, because apple pie is already popular and people are willing to fork over hard cash for it. Hard cash might turn out to be one of the founding sacraments. Most likely, I think. She did ask me if I thought I could burn incense without setting myself on fire, so there may be a paying role for me here too. But nevertheless, I can always fill in as a part-time sacrifice if the incense thing doesn't pan out, so it may be a "go". (Sound of muted woots, like in the olden days.)

My love, Echinoia Eeeps is never satisfied. I washed and waxed her tank, filled it with hi-grade diesel, bought a year's supply of ammo, and now she wants me to run around the pasture behind the house while she sharpens up her skills with the machine gun. But what can I do? If I get her mad, she may be tempted to bite me again, and I sincerely don't need that.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps started a toad ranch while I was asleep. She does that sort of thing. On a whim. "Whimsical", she calls it. Feels proud of herself. What I actually suggested was a turd ranch, but she missed the humorous part of that, so now we have toads. At least they eat the flies, which is a major downside to all turd ranches.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps said she'd really prefer me to be a lot hairier. This has been a thing for quite a while. She basted me with butter and turned off the water to prevent unnecessary bathing until I developed a nice layer of body-wide mold, which was soft, to be sure, though not nearly durable enough for her needs, so next up she's going to cover me in Elmo's Glue goo and have me roll around in the Eeeps Family Fuzz Room until I pick up a decent coating of hair trimmings, pit shavings, and nose clips. I'll let you know later how that shakes out, in case you're facing a similar situation.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Obviously living one version of the good life here.

Emille Girron Did Not Shave A Cat This Week

It's Friday, the noise machine has been repaired, and I can't hear well enough to see what I'm writing.

It's Friday, the noise machine has been repaired, and I'm wondering if it's too late to die of tuberculosis. Has something to do with potatoes, right?

It's Friday, the noise machine has been repaired, and I've been masturbating all week while waiting for the bus to work. Tired now, really tired, and nothing to show for it, except this lousy arrest warrant.

It's Friday, the noise machine has been repaired, and even my pants are getting rumbly. If I were a lizard, I probably wouldn't notice so much. Or a snake. Snakes are all deaf, I hear. I hear you, deaf snake, and I'll raise you two dead mice, see if that helps.

It's Friday, the noise machine has been repaired, and something just fell off that building across the street. Too big to be a mouse, too small to be a crocodile, to odorous to be approachable, too wet to be dry, too squishy to be friends with.

Fridays always arrive early. That's why Saturdays never catch up with them. That's the reason, I think.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Same as always.

Stray Soup

Found a stray cat in my soup. Big one. Says his name is Fred, and he wants to watch me eat. Oh, Fred.

Had a long talk with the cat last night, of mice and men, of sugar and spice, and where to get the best 'nip.

Have you ever sniffed your cat's butt? If you don't have a cat then maybe the neighbor's cat? Or the neighbor? Kind of curious how normal this might be. Send photos if you've gottem. Videos — even better.

I am my own double-blind experiment. At least since I accidentally poked my eyes out with that sixpack of catnip-flavored cat amusements.

I caught the cat wearing a mask. Again. I think he's been out robbing banks. The money is coming in from somewhere.

I could be out hiking now, but I have to feed the cat or he'll get ornery again — 20 lbs of raw meat every 12 hours, if I remember right. If I don't remember right, it gets real awkward.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Recently nominated for something by someone, somewhere.

Strength Through Strength

Tweezers. That's a thing — I know. But what's a tweeze, and when did it get to be fun? Is it fun?

TSA: Terror State Airlines. Fly us and you'll see.

Tub of meat. Tuna tuba. Roasted toast. Spam of lamb. These are a few of my famorous fings. (Mostly greasy.)

Trouble in Paradise brand motion sickness bags. Useful in case of a trombone attack.

Tom recently became a monkey. Probably a good move. Accounting will take you only so far.

This could be the start of something amorphous.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Just blew my nose. Anyone else do this?

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

No One Really Knows Nose Hairs Like Laura

Ten Thousand Peanuts, laid before Snorfus the God, who actually prefers cash, only lay there, so that didn't work.

Xavier says Hi. He's the new assistant executioner and has some great ideas for improvements around here. He'd like to talk to you. Needs a partner to practice with.

With no noticeable emotion I mailed a whoopie cushion to Aunt Fanny. She's still in Miami, attending the garden pest exposition, is Aunt Fanny. (Also a granny.)

While cleaning I found a used tractor tire under my bed. Strange. I'm sure I didn't leave it there. As I recall I had an elk carcass stashed there in case of societal collapse, famine, rainy days, and more famine, but I could be wrong again. I don't really like rotting elk that much anymore, though the aroma is invigorating.

Under that bush over there? You see that? I don't either. Possibly another deluded illusion caused by urgent females

Twitching tulips — another flower you get nervous about kissing.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I don't admit anything.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Chicken Crossers

Encountered a chicken crossing the road. At least I think it was a chicken. A pretty tall one, about 3-4 meters, maybe more, so anyhow I decided not to mess with it for now.

Encountered a chicken crossing the road. Said her name was Hermione, and she was a stripper, on her way to work. Well I have heard of chicken strips, I guess, but have never seen one in progress. Me, I learn something every day. You?

Encountered a chicken crossing the road. She went from one side to the other and back again, so either she couldn't make up her mind, or it was a double cross in progress.

Encountered a chicken crossing the road. Why this required a motorcycle, I'll probably never know. A pretty slick move though.

Encountered a chicken crossing the road, name of Fred, or Alice (I wasn't listening too closely). Not really going anywhere with purpose, just out for a walk. More of us should try that.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Never touch the stuff.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Captain IEMOPT

Captain Immediate. No appointment necessary. Walk-ins mandatory. Open now. Don't tarry.

Captain Esperanto speaks in tongues so don't expect to catch his drift. Shake your head slowly and sidle off. He usually catches on, but occasionally attacks.

Captain Mediocre can't seem to stand out from the crowd. Any crowd.

Captain Ordinary was checked out by the authorities and found to be within spec — about average for his kind.

Captain Please, now rumored to be engaged to Captain ThankYou.

Captain Thirty-Something is getting to be a bit to old for the job description. Might have to promote to Captain Middle Management or go on disability.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still in charge of something. Something.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Captain Not-To-Be-Outdone

Not to be outdone by anyone, Captain Mumblytones intends to form a choir, to be called "The Hummers". We can't wait. Literally. Leaving now.

Since when did Captain Automatic require batteries? Not the Captain Automatic that I knew.

Captain Untenable is soliciting subscriptions to support his habit, which is nose picking. He may in fact, as he claims, be the world champion, but so far the money has been slow to begin rolling in, so we'll check back later.

Captain Two-For-One is again holding the annual 50% off sale — get three shoes now for the price of a pair. Something like that. Probably best to call first.

Captain Tenuous drifted into town and almost immediately began to dissipate. Left no trace that anyone could detect, not even anyone who cared.

Captain Anonymous picked up a fresh set of regulation Captain Anonymous Super Hero uniforms, all standard-issue, generic, anonymous uniformoid uniforms. No one can tell who he is, maybe a janitor or something? A billionaire? What? Now he's smiling again, inscrutably as usual.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I can only wish.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Bite Something Today

"Gorky Nibbles" — Doggy bites and favorite Russian snack, all in one package.

"Tremulous Tenderloin" — Gourmet diet grub made from Uncle Wiggly's Gelatin Flakes.

"Harvard Ham Pellets" — Eat and get smart. $29.95 per ounce. If that seems excessive, you're already halfway there. (Note: Price does not include tuition).

"Mom's Megafauna Meat Chunks" — Made from the largest beasts available locally, when in season. Practically indescribable.

"I Honestly Can't Tell That It's Not Butter, Can You?" — Edible grease cubes and lubricating lozenges. Better than Mom's most of the time.

"Beverly's Healthy Bites In A Barf Bag" — Previously unrecycled nutrients that our neighbor Beverly has found and collected locally, where possible. Pretty good on average, but expect lingering laxative effects.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I never eat. Not after this.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Tina's Feelers

Sheila doesn't work here any more. I guess she never did. The only remaining mysteries seem to be who is Sheila and why I am writing this.

Saw troops of monkeys chasing guys in suits. Or was it the other way around? Hard to tell when the uniforms look so much alike.

Saw a big hole in the street. Went over for a look. Not much there except a hole, and not even any free doughnuts.

Rented a porcupine to make wine with. They're just light enough to bruise but not crush the grapes. Mine had diarrhea though. Yeah, another bummer.

Raining today. I know because some of it fell on my head. Is rain white and steamy-warm and stinky and does it come from birds where you live?

Something older than fuzz, found on the Grunder Steps, next to an open-ended surf wrench, has now been declared officially dangerous. Or dangerously official. Or I forgot my notes. How about we try again later?

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I really didn't intend to share this, but you look gullible.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Boodle Doo

Yours is bigger than mine, but not as much fun, especially at home, alone, with lots of ice cream.

Yesterday I thought of something clever. Now I'm back to being a dope. Still ugly too. #MyLifeAsATaillessApe

When will we decriminalize bugs?

Whatever happened to my pants? They couldn't have run away from home, could they? So lonely now.

Torque Treat: Using the included rope, bind victim, twist, tie off, eat cake with beer. Follow up with torrential toast.

My father, a self-taught ignoramus, has now left for parts unknown, with all his own parts.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Holding steady. Holding something. Something squishy though. Not that pleasant.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Moot Point #7

You have now been deleted.

You know what they say — if it was really poison, wouldn't it have a big warning label on it? But I'm still refusing to lick the cat any more.

When I was in — I think — third grade, I ate my teddy bear — all of it. Still pooping fuzz 30 years later. Don't know where the eyes went.

What happens on Saturday stays on Saturday.

Want to buy lightly-used hamburgers? I know a guy.

Turdslinger. My name is Turdslinger. Stand back if you know what's good for you.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Just a mooting kind of person, I guess.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Rattle Your Shakes

Bizarre lunch #3: Tapioca and fugu with 3 assorted coal miners.

Bob the Giant Saint now sells Canadian reverse-twist gravy and meatballs.

Chlorophyll deficiency is a thing, and you may be subject to it. First symptom: you have increasing trouble photosynthesizing. Or your pants keep falling down around your ankles. Either one.

Clever people do clever things cleverly. And then some of them explode. A fact of nature. Makes for awkwardness at parties. And weddings. Also funerals, although those are my personal favorites.

Communists have finally infiltrated my underwear drawer. I've been expecting this for a long, long time.

Confessions of a snake oil salesman: 'It was really only peanut oil.'

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I never actually quit.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Scrapes And Scraps

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting alone in the dark of night, counting the grains of sand that fall from out my dusty boots, ever grateful for solitude, loneliness, and the desultory quiet pops emanating from the dying embers of my tiny, homeless campfire.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, having but a scant few hairs left in my graying beard, a thin patina of desiccated sweat sheathing my skin, and a deep appreciation of endless empty landscapes.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. You know me not, nor I you. And if we passed by on any street, would neither have even the briefest flicker of recognition if we did. For I am anonymous, empty as the wind, drifting along from never to nowhere, always vacant, always alone, always who I am, and no one else, unrecognized and unregarded, the way I have always been and always shall remain.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, nothing more than I am, nothing less, and inhabiting none of the territory between.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting quietly next my horse named "Hoarse", my sixgun named "Pooter the Shooter", and my cat Muffin, imaginary all, temporary all, no more substantial than memories of dust, but completely and solely mine.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, combing my hair by starlight, always aware that everything shall end.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Now thinking more deeply about dirt.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Things Such As They Be

Let's keep in mind that, so far, two world wars have been started by Christians, who also designed, built, and ran the Nazi death camps. Credit where credit is due.

No Christian has been known to ask why God invented death and thereby bears responsibility for the demise of every human who has ever lived. Including the righteous.

If God exists, then religion doesn't need to. If God has existed since before space and time, created everything, is omnipotent, and omniscient, knows where every speck of matter and energy came from, where they are at every instant, and when and where they will cease to exist, then God also knows every single thing that anyone will ever do, say, or think, and knew this before the universe itself existed, so there is no need for prayer, let alone religion. But if prayer and religion are needed, then the whole show has to get along just fine without God, who therefore is irrelevant, and is a flimsy fabrication.

I've never had the need to pray to gravity to keep my feet on the floor, so what's the deal with praying to God to keep things ticking? Isn't God smarter than the force that makes urine run down the gutter?

If Jesus died because of your sins, then don't you have a toxic personality? I mean. Really.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Yep. Me.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Brick Punch

Ed's sister Fred, economist to the stars, says she doesn't like me any more. Handy, because now I never have to meet her.

Got my kunkel on over the weekend. Will find out what it is later.

Granny's Old-Fashioned Fried Dead Things. On sale all week.

Grand Uncle Hornfunfel was a great guy, according to legend. Used to keep a cassowary in his closet, next to his collection of cassocks. And he was a Cossack, by choice if not by regulation. (Though he was never actually licensed.)

Harvey ain't here no more. He signed up for the witness protection program last week. So as soon as he witnesses something he's all set.

I see that someone purchased me on eBay. I wonder what will happen next. (Going into hiding as a preventive measure though.)

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still blinded by obliviousness.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Melons For Science

And then there's that cloud up in the sky. Just the one, with that guy sitting on it. Can't be right. Can't be.

And what happens if the knot in the end of the universe lets go and all the air zoops out of it? Will the whole thing go whizzing around, and end up on the carpet, in the corner of some living-room floor like a lost, wrinkled, useless, discarded foreskin? I guess that would put an end to futures trading wouldn't it? I don't care either, but my cat says he knows. And isn't talking.

As high school reunions go, it wasn't that bad — all the corpses were fresh this time.

Bananas don't make good babysitters. Found out the hard way on that one, for sure.

Double mermaid fireball. Saw one once.

Eating poison is not a good way to die, but it is quick, in case you need to be somewhere later on.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Wouldn't know, wouldn't tell.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Hope Stings A Turtle

Nuclear war is something I've considered, but really haven't had the time to pursue yet.

True, nuclear war can be fun, but it's all over in a minute anyway.

If nuclear war is so great, then why doesn't Walmart sell kits online?

I've thought a lot about nuclear war, but somehow poison gas just seems to signify a more personal touch.

Who invented nuclear war anyway? Was it us? Really? Well then it must be OK, though I'm still a bit skeptical around my edges.

Mom agreed to tell me all about how to prepare for and fight a nuclear war, so I didn't have to join Cub Scouts and learn a bunch of sketchy bits and outright useless misinformation there.

Nuclear war isn't always entertaining. For example, if your timing is only a bit off, you don't get any decent laughs at all.

Grampy is a tad bit touchy about nuclear war. "Not like when I was your age," he says. "Back then it was the real deal and cars even had tail fins. Now look at it all. Nobody's even building fallout shelters any more, and you've got no place to get away from the wife for even a few minutes." True.

Nuclear war isn't even the worst that can happen. There's still high school for crying out loud. I mean, think about it.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Finally getting comfy with my lizard brain collection.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Monkeys Randomly Appointed

Dad was appointed to fill an empty Senate seat for the state of Georgia. Lucky him — the term has five years and eleven months to go, so he's got job security. He's also been dead for 11 years, so his conservative credentials are impeccable. (Can't be peckered, by any pecker.) The only iffy part might be his habit of climbing out of his box and running naked through the streets. He's been doing that since the last shovelful of dirt hit his grave, which the cemetery caretaker and two dogs can attest to. Nobody can figure out how he gets out of the hole, with half a ton of dirt on top, but there you are. This is mostly why I moved to Australia. When you die here, that's it — no funny business. And the dead are officially barred from holding political office.

Well, it's been a tough week for Dad. Despite him showing enough initiative to keep climbing out of his grave to run around naked, and despite setting up his own political campaign ("Dead Prez 24"). It looks pretty certain that the other old dead white guys have him outnumbered this time around.

If monkeys were randomly appointed to every political office and position of power, we'd realize that they actually have been filling those positions for centuries now, and that maybe the best thing you can do is to wear a monkey costume, keep your head down, save all you can, and quietly slip away as soon as you are able manage it. And possibly steal just one more extra bag of monkey nibbles.

Meanwhile, political candidate Doorknob Stumpf is proclaiming that a few thousand helpless people so desperate to survive that they left their homes to walk thousands of miles are going to do us in. Faced with such determination, ingenuity, and sheer grit, I hope so. We need people like that.

Meanwhile, a current office holder by the name of Slo-Mo Joe Binding is practicing walking across a stage without falling down more than once. Way to go, Mo Joe. Now resign.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Just tried a bowl of "Uncle Bob's Monkee Munch". Pretty good overall, considering that I'm an ape.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Dear Friend I Am Not Spam I Am Pork

DEAR FRIEND

Attention My Dear Friend From Your Friend Agent Richard Stephen

I am Mr. Richard Stephen, a senior officer at John F. Kennedy International Airport New York, during my search for undelivered parcels I discovered an abandoned shipment from a Diplomat from Africa and when scanned it revealed an undisclosed sum of money in a metal trunk box which could be approximately $12.5Million dollars.

The consignment was abandoned because the Contents of the consignment was not properly declared by the consignee as "MONEY" rather it was declared as personal effect to avoid interrogation and also the inability of the diplomat to pay for the United States Non Inspection Charges which is $3,800USD. On my assumption the consignment is still left in our Storage House here at the John F. Kennedy International Airport Queens New York till date. The details of the consignment including your name, your email address and the official documents from the United Nations office in Geneva are tagged on the Trunk box.

However, to enable me confirm if you are the actual recipient of this consignment as the assistant director of the Inspection Unit, I will advise you provide your current Phone Number and Full Address, to enable me cross check if it corresponds with the address on the official documents including the name of nearest Airport around your city. Please note that this consignment is supposed to have been returned to the United States Treasury Department as unclaimed delivery due to the delays in concluding the clearance processes so as a result of this, I will not be able to receive your details on my official email account. So in order to enable me to cross check your details, I will advise you to send the required details to my private email address for quick processing and response. Once I confirm you as the actual recipient of the box, I can get everything concluded within 48hours upon your acceptance and proceed to your address for delivery.

Lastly, be informed that the reason I have taken it upon myself to contact you personally about this abandoned consignment is because I want us to transact this business and share the money 70% for you and 30% for me since the consignment has not yet been returned to the United States Treasury Department after being abandoned by the diplomat so immediately the confirmation is made, I will go ahead and pay for the United States Non Inspection Fee of $3,800 dollars and arrange for the box to be delivered to your doorstep Or I can bring it by myself to avoid any more trouble but you have to assure me of my 30% share...

I wait to hear from you urgently if you are still alive and interested to receive your box and I will appreciate it if we can keep this deal confidential. My private Email: (richardstephen915@gmail.com) for further directives: You can not call me on my telephone number for it will expose me more.

Thank you. Mr. Richard Stephen Assistant Inspection Director John F. Kennedy International Airport Queens New York, 11430 United States

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I am trustable complete, send money you are safe in my fingers.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Brother Smedly Rotates Clownwise

I can't complain — I'm not a clown, but if a monkey, well then I'd frown.

I'm worried that my nose is too big. People are always laughing. Ever since clown school. I sneeze in your general direction, Mr Poopyhead.

Someone told me that every Thursday is a major holiday, but it's never happened before, so I'll think twice about wearing my clown costume to work again.

Uncle Benny laid an egg last night while attending the opera. Could have been worse. Since no one but he can stand all the terrible howling, he was all alone there in his formal clown suit, clucking softly in the dark.

I used to have an inkling until it flew away to join the circus.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I can't.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Watching, Always Watching

Pat and Trite the Obvious Sisters, are selling off slightly used Xmas gift rejects. Xmas gift rejects. They call them "Regurgitates". Socks, sweaters, Bibles, pets — you name it and they probably have it, at least one of each and every. Sale ends Friday but they didn't say in which month. Bring your own disinfectant.

Pat and Trite the Obvious Sisters want you to know that you are not alone, even if you deserve to be. They are always watching, and taking notes.

Pat and Trite the Obvious Sisters, are starting a new suburban lawn care service. They'll come by, critique your spread, and tell you what to do. $7500 for each 30 minute session, by appointment. Repeat customers welcome, if any. No whining.

Pat and Trite the Obvious Sisters, are holding a non-denominational service for all interested parties in the name of the "Totally Average Non-Religious Deity of Ordinary Normal Good Folks Like Us". Pretty much says it all right there. Come one, come all, and enjoy the post-silent-meditation potluck. Bring what you can, but they already have more salads than anyone can look at without gagging, so how about something meaty? A voluntary $10 love offering will be collected at the door ($20 if you don't bring food, because everyone else will be and you're not that special, are you?) too, and we have to be realistic about this, people.

Pat and Trite the Obvious Sisters have a Neighborhood Watch which will be scanning the vicinity from the community observation tower, looking for dry or unclean bird baths, among other things. Help us, people! We need to bring our area up to national standards!

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Not much like them, at all.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Drifting Unformed Silent

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, drifting along from place to place, never noticed, never heard, never missed once I am again gone.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, shuffling along quietly near the borders of what is called life. Never one to complain, I then do not, preferring to cut and to keep cut as many of the ties to average daily life as I am able, while remaining substantially unseen, unheard, and delible.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting aside my solo campfire talking to any and whichever adventurous moths might tender a brief visit, otherwise completely alone, save for a scant few stars and the nightly chill.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, sitting very still, listening to something howling at the moon, surprised once again to realize that it is I, clever man.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy, unformed, shapeless, a shade, a shadow, a small uncertain cloud of indifference and lost opportunity, neither here nor there, nor even anywhere in between, and no longer sure of anything else.

I am the Lonesome Cowboy. Never been kissed, save for a few gritty wind-blown grains of sand, eventually learning to quit hoping. Never had a real conversation with a real woman even, ever. I did try though, somewhat. Even said my prayers, always on time, and respectfully, but no. Now, old and leathery, parked quietly in the dark of night, I no longer do more than to wait. For what, I do not know, nor really care. I wait, only wait.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Just blew my nose. Expect to recover shortly.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Please Pay The Bean Doctor

Recently paid a visit to the eye doctor. He's better than the nose doctor, at least for eye things, not so much for nose things, and the nose doctor has better toys in his waiting room, which there is competition for. Like last week when I was on site for a routine nose tuneup and re-straightening. (I get mine bent out of shape a lot.) I had to punch out a couple of kids who just would not give up the sock puppets. Then they started crying to Mommy, and I had to punch her out too. It was a long week full of many difficulties — makes me glad to be back in my nice, quiet cell again.

Rubber bands — what miracles of industry. Or, are they actually alive? I noticed one eyeing me yesterday but pretending not to. (This is not as big a stretch as you probably think.)

Resurrection Toast: If Mom's Everlasting Raisin Pie returns from the dead, try spreading it on toast and feeding it to the neighbor kid. They'll never miss him. (Or her, or it, or whatever.)

I bet the people who do show up at my high school reunion will find some reason not to even notice that I'm not giving even a one-sided fart about it (though in my own lonely way).

I don't know why I'm still lonely. I mean, banishment, exile, and all, but there must be a genuine reason somewhere here, right?

Meatballs live short, lonely lives that always end badly but taste good.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Will tell you as soon as I find out.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Smile Like It's Been Fun

Custom Carpet Immolation Services. "When it can't be saved, just be brave." Do the right thing. Call us, 'K? Positive results for all infestations, odors, and non-removable stains. Client must have adequate outdoor space and a valid burning permit. Simultaneous human sacrifices not allowed by city ordinance. Check with Bob's Body Burners & Unholy Communionistas for advice on disposing of relatives and difficult neighbors before making a commitment that may be expensive to get out of.

Paper-Cut Medical Services. Will do house calls, will accept dinner invitations. Have my own hammock and socks.

On-call Spot Remover. Must be flea-collared and up to date with all vaccinations. If so, send me a postcard and I might get back to you.

Artichoke inspector, will also do cantaloupe or tomatoes if asked politely. Not usually available Thursdays in June.

I wonder how life is for people who have pornographic memories.

Mom said I'm a turd, but look who laid me.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Teeth. I have teeth. Come by and I'll show them to you.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Whiskas N Cream

I don't want to brag, but I'm not very good at anything. Eating cake though...Yeah, I'm OK there. I can eat lots of cake, most days, and keep it down without even breaking a sweat. Most days.

Is it wrong to eat out of the cat's bowl? I'm thinking there's less to wash up, dish-wise. So far it's working mostly. A few hissy fits, sure, every now and then, when I'm running late and Herbert has to wait, but mostly OK. Pizza is hard. I usually get my face stuck going after that last bit of sausage, so sometimes Mr Fancypants H gets the last bit, but I make it up with beer. I get all the beer (Point of privilege, opposable thumbs for holding bottles and all.)

Let's say, without equivocation, that I'm enjoying eating out of the cat's bowl. Lower to the floor, so no chance of falling out of my chair, good company, lots of purring, very few and infrequent hissy fits, better tasting food than I can make on my own, and easier cleanup (or none, depending on who eats first). And since Herbert doesn't like beer that much, I get to lap away over at my private "special" bowl as fast or as slow as it suits me. If I'm in the mood, I toss Bertie a little pinch of 'nip so he doesn't feel left out, and then we have a nap. Pretty mellow deal we have here.

Currently re-entering earth's atmosphere, from below. Been living the mole life for a year or so. Tired of eating worms, and need some real beer. Molebrau is adequate but generally has a higher dirt content than I prefer.

If you want to eat something, make sure that it has stopped moving first — a good rule to follow. Think "moving and storage" services, you playing the "storage" part. Just practice until it feels natural.

Yesterday I ate something that didn't agree with me. In my experience, that's often the quickest way to reach a consensus.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? You thought I was making this up?

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Go Go Go Fer Eeeps

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is going to take a float trip down the Grand Canyon on a crocodile. She says there's a company set up for this — BiteMeFloaties they call it. She'll be busy during the season opener, so she wants me to take the first crocodile and write up a report if I have any fingers left and all else goes well, etc.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is pretty nice overall, except when she's not, of course. Ours is about like most relationships, I guess, and I've got the scars to testify on my behalf if we ever get to that point.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is quite the gal. (I'm contractually obligated to say that at least twice a week.) And I mean it. (Or else.)

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, sent me a message in a bottle. It was written in sand at the bottom of the bottle, and got stirred up when she hit me over the head with it (to catch my attention, I'm guessing). Anyway, now I have lumps and still have no idea what I'm supposed to do, so maybe that was the message. You never know, even if you're expected to. (I truly hope that's the right answer.)

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, says that she wants to start a gopher farm. She already has a place. All she needs is the dirt to go with it, and a selection of worthwhile gopher seeds. I'm to be in charge of those details, plus finding a quality supplier of holes. (Decent gophers demand quality holes.) If there's something else, I'm sure she'll tell me when she gets back from outer space, where her family is wiring up an interplanetary telegraph system. (Very hush-hush for now though.)

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, wants to train ants to rob banks. She figures if she can do that, then I can get an actual job and pull my own weight, which is one reason that I'm still on my diet.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Do you need to even ask?

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Family Feelers

If mucilage was intelligent, what might you say to it? Would you work for a business run my mucilage? If so, what might it smell like to work there, and would your family understand?

A family is a group of people you know intimately and wish you didn't.

Bumpers. I don't have bumpers. I was born without them. Runs in the family. We're all like this.

I've never once been bothered by elephants. Mom's family repellent recipe really does work.

Mom never told me that I'd grow up to smell bad. Sure, it runs in the family but it never occurred to me that I was one of them. Maybe I am. People avoid me. Some faint. I believe it's because of my stinky-poo, but in all honesty, maybe I'm just too good-looking and I'm simply too much for people to handle. I also fart a lot. Did I mention that? Maybe not. I forget things. Other than that, I feel fine. Got nothing going on today, so how about we have lunch together?

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Still not expecting much from life. Maybe I'll try something else after my nap.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Od Vuck, Person At Large

If my father had been an aardvark, I probably wouldn't be here today, though if so, I'd likely find ants a lot better tasting.

Do I want to be a father? No. I had one, once upon a time, and don't want to be seen with people like that, especially in the mirror.

If I could be anything I wanted would I be a father? No, and even if being one was required by law, I still wouldn't wear the cape. Not in public anyway.

Once a father, always a father, right? Well then, don't even get me started.

If becoming a father put hair on my chest, how about that? Well, hey, I think I have enough trouble with just my rascally nose hairs to occupy most of my time, thank you.

In the world of ancient Greece, Father's Day was celebrated by exactly nothing. And they were smart, right?

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? I'm actually adopted. I hope.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Yes Cat

I used to have a cat but it ate all the neighbors so I had to move. To a larger city. Because I still have the cat. And cats need to eat.

I bought a web cam to keep track of the cat. When I'm gone he has friends over for tuna and beer. Cool.

If you see the cat, tell him his pajamas are ready. Freshly laundered and precisely ironed, just so. Discharge of one of my duties to Lord Worship.

It was my birthday. Someone sent me a cookie — weighed 14 pounds. Might have been the cat. He does things like that. No telling where he got the money, but he does have connections. Some say he's involved in the illegal mouse parts trade. Can't tell for sure from over here. He's pretty tight-lipped for someone without lips. Maybe that's how it works. At least I've managed to remain in his good graces. Every now and then we kick back and do a bit of 'nip together. Maybe that's the deal. Works for me.

The cat gave me a self-inflating dildo for my birthday. Now I have six, and nowhere to put them.

Yes, the cat did get my tongue. Beat me at poker again. Got my shorts too. And I'm stuck feeding him and doing his laundry for a full six months. Anything. Fine — just so I don't have to lick him again.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Wallowing in the warmth of 'nip addiction.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

You Don't Fool This Woman

My love, Echinoia Eeeps shot a pigeon yesterday. It was a decoy. The real one got away, running down the road swearing and flapping his arms. He had the two left ones and was wearing gray coveralls. About five foot none, 180 pounds, with a short beard. Very suspicious.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, wants to be first in line to get a head transplant because, as she says, the one on her yacht is worn out. So far I've been unable to get any solid information about this "yacht" thing, or to explain what a "head transplant" might actually be, and anyway, she's likely to just haul off and give me another good pounding, which is what she usually does, so I always keep my insurance paid up.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, wants to see peace on earth in our time, and as soon as she becomes Autarch, she's going to see that it happens, even if she has to liquidate all the unhappy people to get it done.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps was for a brief time a champion skeet shooter, until discovering that she much preferred slowly strangling them. I never say no any more. Shhh.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, has time for me. She keeps it in barrels down in the family dungeon. If I can't drink it all during my lifetime, she says she's going to pickle me in it, if I die of acceptable natural causes, right after bathing, and am wearing clean underpants, because when I finally ripen in the tub, I will get fed to the Eeeps Family herd of wild swine, who are quite particular. Fussy, even.

My love, Echinoia Eeeps, is intent on testing the validity of the Second Amendment — she's starting up her own well-regulated militia, after which she's "Gonna get out there and kick some asparagus." I'm actually beginning to have a few minor doubts about my feelings toward her gardening techniques, but of course will not say so. Not a peep.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Treading carefully here. You betcha.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Wood Peckers, Wood Lice, Eat Food, Be Nice

Albino pies. Alibi baba. Alice in Wonderlane, also being famous. Altar eggo. Amanda Panda Janda Wanda Fooby-doo. I like everyone but not you. Fuck off then.

Anhydrous cats, wandering the dustless wilderlands with Anglo Desperado, armored bicycle driver at large.

Bread no longer comes with wheels. Try Brother John's Solemn Unsmoked Salami with frigid chips instead.

Britney Spearchucker, certified parking accountant, full of conflicting personas.

I came here today to tell you all that I'm not resigning, if hired. That comes later, but I did come in second at the big noodle derby and then was disqualified for being less than 98% organic wheat. Poo. So what's the verdict then?

I craved something sweet so I asked your younger sister if she would marry me, right after my all of my divorces are final. OK with you then?

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Blowing smoke. Or something. Seems smoky. Whatever.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Mom Nom

Mom ate my shoelaces. That's what a guy on the street told me. He didn't have any shoelaces either, though he was carrying a bucket of fruit salad, which must mean something.

Mom bought a turkey and told me to get lost. Then I think she ate it. I don't want to go back there any more.

Mom bought a tank. Used, but still...

Mom has been grumpy of late — been laying eggs again, I think. And she's really too old for it.

Mom never let me assassinate anyone. She had rules. Unless they deserved it, so my childhood was less fun than it could have been, though I did learn lots about running a successful crime family.

Mom said I shouldn't pick my nose in public so I went back to letting her do it.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Irresponsible, irreplaceable, irritated. You?

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Bring Your Hat, And A Chicken

Anathema is not a funny kind of anthem and can even cause severe distress if not used properly, or if swallowed whole.

Banana endorsements — what I live for. Acknowledgment from my fruit buddies.

Boll weevils are just one kind, or so they say. There are also tweezer weevils, tweedlee weevils, tiddly weevils, toodle weevils, and luny-tune weevils, to name just some, all of them uninteresting dinner guests.

Carl sent me. He said I could find you here. But he didn't warn me about the "some assembly required" part. Let's agree not to talk about it, please.

Distributed undifferentiated whiffle-dingies. Just saw some walk by, laughing. Don't you love it?

Friday is always a good time to whittle down the backlog of human sacrifices that builds up during the week, even if you're not especially religious.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Very sincerely inept, and feeling good about it.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

The Way It Should Be Done

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, will be enjoying a light lunch on the patio. They wanted you to know. So you know.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are starting a museum of carpet samples throughout the ages, beginning with the year 1964. When synthetics finally reached maturity. Finally. And when bugs were no longer a problem. So far they have only what they inherited from their Uncle Al, of Uncle Al's Discount Carpet Emporium and Fee-Based Parking, who saw a real future in synthetics and passed along what he called the "Six Squares of Destiny", none of which were samples of actual carpeting, which they all agree only astronomically enhances their historical value somehow. By appointment only, Wednesdays and Saturdays in March if nothing else is happening that week, after the museum opens in the next decade or so, in response to public interest, which is destined to arrive.

Pat and Trite, the Obvious Sisters, are training their dog to bark on newspaper and poop on cue, having misread the owner's manual, but they've committed to seeing it through even if they have to bend the universe to meet their standards, because they are never wrong. You are.

Pat and Trite the Obvious Sisters, have a new line of offspring silencers. Muffle your child in style, only $49.95 each. They also sell Swedish hobbles to slow down over-active youngsters and keep them from running unrestrained through our once-peaceful subdivision.

Pat and Trite the Obvious Sisters, want you to know that nothing in this neighborhood escapes their vigilante gaze, and can provide reports on your compliance with standards of decency going back at least 11 years and six weeks, upon request. (After payment of a small processing fee, of course.)

Pat and Trite the Obvious Sisters, have a new line doorknob merkins in several innocent and colorful patterns to disguise that overly-suggestive bulge pointing out toward the otherwise sedate and proper street from your front door. $39.95 each.

 

---

Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Definitely lying low in this neighborhood.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals