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I have in my possession one hundred eighty-one Jones Soda bottle caps. I know this because I just counted them. Ha! I win and you lose, I've got the Jones caps and you don't. And those aren't even all the Jones sodas I've had in my life. Score!

For Skeeter, who feels ill...

"Hey everybody it's a real turn on
It's on yur wrist and it's lumpy, it's a ganglion
Tendon tubies get a pocket of fun
Fill up with juice and mucuous, it's a ganglion!"
--Lederhosen Lucil, "Ganglion" from Tales from the Pantry

Goldbrickin'
Except for a few hours yesterday, my dad hasn't been to work in a month. He was in the hospital for a week; fair enough. He needed two weeks at home to recover until his bloodwork was such as to permit him to go back to work; fair enough. But he said he was going back to work this week, and now he's taking vacation days the rest of the week. And while he's too ill to go back to work, what is he doing? Lazily working on the Camero, but primarily reading all the books he's been getting from some dreadful organization called the Conservative Book Club. (Ye gods.) His latest cause, which apparently he picked up from Ann Coulter (once again, ye gods) is the rehabilitation of Joe McCarthy. Their contention is that old Joe wasn't so bad, he's gotten a bum rap from the liberal media, and that - to this day - the State Department is a nest of Reds and traitors, the last functioning branch of the Comintern. I hate having my father hanging around the house whenever I come home, maybe even more than I hate having to wake up early on my days off to run the cars around.

Crap
Fugazi

H-A-D
Have an Earth Day.