Glimpsing myself in a mirror just now, I realize I look like someone who was trapped in a lard catastrophe; someone that had to tunnel out using only his mouth. I'm home now, but unfortunately, I'm like a whale swimming up so rapidly that when I reach the surface, I can't stop: I just ate an entire loaf of bread and a pound of cheese. I wonder if whales hate themselves when they've got plankton running down their chins and their blowhole is full of ambergris. Mmmm, ambergris.
By the way, I don't want to nag, but did you visit Buddy Roemer's web site like I asked you to?