The creaky yoke of living


Licketysplit here, still plodding along without Lambchop. It is so lonely in the solarium without you, boddyyy! I am reduced to trying to teach this pleasing red rubber ball to play Baccarat with me. Steele did send a digital momento of their vacation so far, but it was a bit indecent. Well, if you consider the statue of David indecent. But for God and country and Ashcroft, I shall not display it. We do not traffic in the base emotions of the flesh.

Melvin has been champing at the bit for more column space, so we finally gave him our blessing (not that Melvin needs it), and he can now be found at a more suitable home. Do drop in on his new LiveJournal. Pace around, make yourself at home. He will summon his manservant, and you will share a fiery digestive.

In other strange developments, people have started asking Melvin for advice! Kitty Winn is livid. She threw a princess telephone at my head when I told her the news, and tried to stab me with the matching engraved dialer. Melvin does not deign to solve anyone’s problems. He has advised that in general he feels humankind is a wretched burden. Did you really think a well-heeled nihilist beagle would be of much service in matters of the heart? Cease and desist, Kitty Winn is the only one around here who is cut out for meddling. Seriously, she is threatening to quaff an entire bottle of nail polish remover if she doesn’t get some suitable letters soon.

I actually have a Kitty Winn-worthy problem, but I am not quite ready to share. The tightness in my chest is too great, the problem too monumental. Today I took to the couch and watched obscenely fit people trot by in the marathon. That just made me feel out of shape. So I took a nap. This problem is not existential in nature, I don’t really get those anymore since I sprayed the Angst-B-Gone around the mailbox and front walk.  The only thing that gave me cheer all day was reading my sister’s account of the Cadbury Mini Horse Attack. Really, you should read it. There is dismemberment.


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