Yes, I know I haven�t updated in a cat year�s worth of fortnights and a human�s worth of, well, a very long fucking time. What�s more, I have more more more (how do you like it, how do you like it) more important things to write about than this. (Not to poo-poo the effect of mass murder, believe you me). But I feel I must update this very moment because Ms. J.T. has signed my guestbook to the effect that �the kitten gets it,� if I don�t update, and I just can�t bear the idea that a kitten will �get it.� Though, I must say, knowing J.T. and her penchant for taking ridiculously good care of two beautiful (but impossibly vocal) parakeets, a two-pounder bunny with Mario Andretti back paws, and an increasingly large boa constrictor; the �kitten gets it� probably means that some tiny feline will be found and fed a feast of Iam�s Delicious Roast and sweet fur caress (not sexual, you disgusting human life form) beyond recognition. Of course, the last time I was at her house I wondered what had happened to her fish tank, all natural and fan-tail-y (Oh, God, that was Buffy-speak). And while I (sort of) wish she would have told me she just got tired of them and fried them up, it turns out she made sure our friend Shea took them to live with him and all of his well-cleansed chi.

So instead of writing about other imperative things, like the figurative colon cleansing of finishing my thesis, I�ll just share this dork-o-rama with you, for now (which I wrote yesterday):

I�ve had this strange psychic radio in my head recently�none of it is really any good other than to show me my third eye is not completely blind. Mostly I�ll dream about something I know nothing about, wake up and turn on the television, and there it will be. A couple weeks ago my sister and brother-in-law were visiting and all day until I went to meet them at the hotel I had �Big Bottom� from Spinal Tap in my head. As soon as I got to their room my brother-in-law said, �Hey�check out the new phone ring I downloaded!� Sure enough it was �Big Bottom,� double bass line and all.

So yesterday I keep thinking �Wesson� to myself. Thinking �Hmmm. Smith & Wesson.� Wesson Oil. �For whom is Smith & Wesson a bigger household name than Wesson Oil and Florence Henderson?� I think to myself. I feel for those people. Wesson Wesson Wessson. For about half an hour yesterday. And then I get online today and read about this guy Marcus Wesson who (allegedly) murdered seven of his (alleged) children, an adult and one teenager, in such a disturbing way that when the bodies were found yesterday some seasoned police officers were given administrative leave and counseling this weekend. They�re not releasing all of the information yet, but there were ten coffins lined up against the wall, and two young women ran out of the house when Wesson surrendered. It is thought to be perhaps some sort of ritual slaying.

Ok. This terrible entry will force me to write more later. Who wants to leave Marcus Wesson as one's last entry? Not me, I tell you!