glub glub glub...

Of course. Sometimes at the same time.

Autumn in New York. An hour and a half of my life I will never get back. Lost all respect for Richard Gere and Winona Ryder that day. Or maybe it was Crocodile Dundee. Lost all respect for crocodiles that day.

No, only in one.

I had no idea you knew everyone.

S-E-X, just like everyone else who speaks English.

I am in a master/slave relationship. It's called *work.*

Because they haven't used the bathroom in awhile.

Crunch.

Nah. Someone has to do the heavy lifting.

Yes. The line between cupcakes and muffins is getting more and more muddled what with bacon/maple cupcakes and carrot cake muffins and all.

Which hair are we talking about? And how do you plan to choose which of your many hairs get the chop?

Not unless it's a dead farmer.

Isn't that normal?

True story: My father ended up in the Veterans Home when he became too ill to stay at home. My mother and I would attend church services with him on Sundays. On this particular Sunday, he and an unpleasant man known to us only as "The Irishman" were loudly fighting and took their considerable disagreements with each other to church. Even at the best of times, church services were a chaotic affair--one man would keep asking to be told when the Our Father was going to start, others would wander in and out of the room or yell out things. Well, my father had enough of The Irishman and loudly called him a motherfucker. The priest didn't blink an eye--just kept right on with the service. After the service, The Irishman walked up to my father, waved a finger in front of him, and said "you're nothing but a pottymouth."

So I guess "pottymouth" should never be said in church.

Whichever one could fix my knees so they could bend without hurting.

Yes.

Why not?

Does pi need a meaning?

Wherever you go, there you are.