The Newsletter
When I wrote yesterday that "the hits just keep on coming," I was being funny. (It was funny, blast you!) Little did I realize my Cassandra-like ability to see the future; today, I received a request to terminate a subscription. I think. The email read:

To whom this may concern,

If you want to save 37 cents, remove me from the mailing list.

(she signed it, but I'm withholding her name)

Is this a stab at humour? A passive-aggressive request to unsubscribe? A prelude to something altogether more sinister? I replied, politely requesting clarification; so, we shall see what results.

Hello, Kitty
The entire time I was working on the previous post, Sam was sleeping on the futon. Then, as soon as I posted it and got up to switch CDs (out: NFG's New Found Glory, in: NFG's Sticks and Stones), he started whining and following me. Dammit, Sam, what are you whining about? I haven't been neglecting you, you were asleep! You'd rather I woke you up every time I entered the room? I think the core of the problem is that my brain is physically larger than Sam's whole head, ears, fur, fangs, and all. I love my kitty, but he's got a brain the size of a walnut. It's okay, Sammy, it isn't your fault you're stupid.