There's this Aussie twit who has titled his blog "Wilson's Almanac." Notice how this site is so forgettable I shall not even bother hyperlinking to it. Trust me, were a true Wilson to have an almanac, it would rule.

On that note, it's almost too bad my last name is Wilson, because I think it makes a pretty sweet first name.

Saturday night, it was Guy Zach Nie!, Sarah, Steeze, and me at the world famous BJ's, home of "Dancing Sandwiches." We played euchre (because we are Michiganders) and then returned to my house for Risk into the wee hours. I defeated Steeze, somehow the best Risk player I know, to win the game. I had neither the Black Raj nor my beloved African continental bonus, but I pursued a combination Australian Gambit/Asian Simmer to victory. There were several nasty knife fights in Caracas and Zach died chasing the elusive North American Dream.

Via Mr. Bell's fantabulous invention, I spoke with the Mountain twice and also Sardine.

I have determined that my mother has no sense of humor: 1) she finds both The Flintstones and Happy Days funny, 2) she dislikes Jackie Gleason... Mom, your beloved Fred fucking Flintstone was a cheap rehashing of Gleason's Ralph Cramden, and 3) she doesn't like Futurama, not at all, not even a little bit. If you can't laugh at "the lost city of Atlanta," man, why even get out of bed in the morning?

"You were a loser in the year 2000 and you're a loser in the year 4000."
"Yeah, but in the year 3000 I had it all: several friends, a low-paying job, a bed in a robot's closet. I envied no man."

Also today, I operated a chainsaw for the first time! I'm a big boy now.

Two three four? That's awesome!