http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-Ms. Pikachu is one of those kids that always wants a pet. She’s had fish, gerbils and others no longer in memory. She currently has guinea pigs. Note the plural, for therein lies a cautionary tale. To start she had one pig, a female.
Trainboy’s class had a guinea pig, and they needed someone to take care of it over a holiday break. Trainboy volunteered. No problem, it was just one more pig. The pig was named Buddy. Not too surprisingly, Buddy was a male. The farther down the food chain something is, the more fertile. We didn’t want an exciting new career in rodent breeding. What to do, what to do. We got another bin to put Buddy in. Ms. Pikachu was instructed to never put Buddy in with her pig. Buddy survived the holiday just fine and was returned to his home at school.
A few weeks later Ms. piggy was noticeably plumper. Surely she was just eating too well. As if. Ms. Pikachu admitted that one day Buddy looked lonely, so she put him in with Ms. Piggy, and the rest was biology 101. Fortunately, they’re cute pets. When held they purr, and they chirp, it’s almost a Cardinal's whistle. Unlike gerbils, they never try to escape. Our indiscrete piggy had five more, a sixth didn’t make it. Trainboy was upset for a few days over the loss of one of Buddy’s offspring.
Lot’s of Ms. Pikachu’s friends said they wanted one. Apparently their parents begged to differ. Perhaps they feared an exciting new career in rodent farming also. One of them was taken by a cousin, leaving us with Ma Piggy and four more. At least we had the extra bin for when they got older.
I’m not big on having pets in the house, but the critters are definitely cute, and demanding. If they see you they start to whistle for food or water. The wife started responding to it first, they got her trained pretty well. Now just to get some quiet, when I get home I rip up a few handfuls of plaintains and dandelions. The lawn will probably be cleared of weeds by summer's end. I walk in the door, they start to chirp, they get their fresh greens. I’m sure they’re impressed with the service and think I'm better trained than the wife. Not so. Service is my life.
Publicserf
Friday, June 06, 2003
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
We were driving along when we passed a VW bug. Cute, but I hate them. You know the ritual. Whoever sees the VW first yells "slug-a-bug" and punches a sibling in the shoulder. When I was a kid it was always the tallest one who saw the bug first, and the shorter one paid in pain for having a poorer view. It's a game that's only fun when you're the one doing the punching. One kid laughs, one hurts. It's sanctioned violence, plain and simple.
Somehow the slug-a-bug ritual had taken it's ugly place in our family. Predictably, Ms. Pikachu almost always saw them first. "Slug-a-bug" and Trainboy takes a shot. Crap. Wanna swear, not going to swear. Really want to swear. The Wife tried to help Trainboy by spotting for him. We drove by the VW dealership. Don't look, don't look, please don't look. The wife sees them and says, "Hey look Trainboy." Ms. Pikachu sees first. Five VW bugs. "slug-a-bug!" pow, pow, pow, pow, pow. He's only five, but decided he was willing to fight it out with his twelve year-old sister. From his perspective slug-a-bug wasn't fair and it certainly hurt. The Wife separated the combatants, then I voiced my displeasure to the Wife.
She thought about it for awhile and declared, "Alright, from now on there's no slug-a-bug, it's hug-a-bug. If you see a bug you give someone a hug." One more reason I love her. Ms. Pikachu rolled her eyes like she was being asked to watch Teletubbies. Trainboy was all smiles. He likes the idea, his shoulder can heal. Oddly enough, he spots most of the bugs now. He's all hugs.
Publicserf
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-
We were driving along when we passed a VW bug. Cute, but I hate them. You know the ritual. Whoever sees the VW first yells "slug-a-bug" and punches a sibling in the shoulder. When I was a kid it was always the tallest one who saw the bug first, and the shorter one paid in pain for having a poorer view. It's a game that's only fun when you're the one doing the punching. One kid laughs, one hurts. It's sanctioned violence, plain and simple.
Somehow the slug-a-bug ritual had taken it's ugly place in our family. Predictably, Ms. Pikachu almost always saw them first. "Slug-a-bug" and Trainboy takes a shot. Crap. Wanna swear, not going to swear. Really want to swear. The Wife tried to help Trainboy by spotting for him. We drove by the VW dealership. Don't look, don't look, please don't look. The wife sees them and says, "Hey look Trainboy." Ms. Pikachu sees first. Five VW bugs. "slug-a-bug!" pow, pow, pow, pow, pow. He's only five, but decided he was willing to fight it out with his twelve year-old sister. From his perspective slug-a-bug wasn't fair and it certainly hurt. The Wife separated the combatants, then I voiced my displeasure to the Wife.
She thought about it for awhile and declared, "Alright, from now on there's no slug-a-bug, it's hug-a-bug. If you see a bug you give someone a hug." One more reason I love her. Ms. Pikachu rolled her eyes like she was being asked to watch Teletubbies. Trainboy was all smiles. He likes the idea, his shoulder can heal. Oddly enough, he spots most of the bugs now. He's all hugs.
Publicserf
Tuesday, June 03, 2003
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
When Trainboy got home today he declared, "I like school!" His class had gone on a field trip to a local park. I wasn't home to debrief him. So I'm guessing he played with Christopher, his new friend from yesterday. It was a good day for Trainboy, so he was happy all evening.
We had a supper of gyros, and just a little side note here, even though they're usually served with tomato and onion slices- add some green bell peppers. It makes them wonderful, imho.
After properly chewing and swallowing a mouthful I looked at the wife and said, "love you madly." This was nothing new, the kids let out their customary groans. Then Trainboy smiled at his mommy and said, "I love you madly too." It was more than Ms. Pikachu could take. She could barely suppress her laughter, "You people are so sick, now I KNOW I'm adopted." She's at the stage where displays of affection are embarrassing. She much prefers to just hit you on the butt. Since that wasn't an option, she made farting sounds because somehow that isn't embarrassing.
When we're at the grocery store, if we aren't in the plunger aisle, the Wife shops, and oftentimes the rest of us try to swat each other on the butt. I don't know who started it, but it's been going on for years. We're walking down an aisle, Ms. Pikachu gets bored, and all of a sudden "WHACK", your buttocks sting, and the war is on. I have walked through almost the entire store backwards. Trainboy will run all the way around the next aisle to come up from behind. It's just nuts. The kids think it's the greatest thing. We're an odd family, but reasonably happy.
This was kind of a short post, but I'm out of time.
The Publicserf
-
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
When Trainboy got home today he declared, "I like school!" His class had gone on a field trip to a local park. I wasn't home to debrief him. So I'm guessing he played with Christopher, his new friend from yesterday. It was a good day for Trainboy, so he was happy all evening.
We had a supper of gyros, and just a little side note here, even though they're usually served with tomato and onion slices- add some green bell peppers. It makes them wonderful, imho.
After properly chewing and swallowing a mouthful I looked at the wife and said, "love you madly." This was nothing new, the kids let out their customary groans. Then Trainboy smiled at his mommy and said, "I love you madly too." It was more than Ms. Pikachu could take. She could barely suppress her laughter, "You people are so sick, now I KNOW I'm adopted." She's at the stage where displays of affection are embarrassing. She much prefers to just hit you on the butt. Since that wasn't an option, she made farting sounds because somehow that isn't embarrassing.
When we're at the grocery store, if we aren't in the plunger aisle, the Wife shops, and oftentimes the rest of us try to swat each other on the butt. I don't know who started it, but it's been going on for years. We're walking down an aisle, Ms. Pikachu gets bored, and all of a sudden "WHACK", your buttocks sting, and the war is on. I have walked through almost the entire store backwards. Trainboy will run all the way around the next aisle to come up from behind. It's just nuts. The kids think it's the greatest thing. We're an odd family, but reasonably happy.
This was kind of a short post, but I'm out of time.
The Publicserf
-
Monday, June 02, 2003
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-To catch up on accounts around here.. is about impossible. The kids are amusing every day. If it doesn't get written it gets forgotten. Here are a few things I still remember.
We were eating supper Saturday and Ms. Pikachu declared she was stuffed, she was bloated.. Trainboy responded with "Bloated is loaded." I still think it's funny.
Both of them are very much into bodily function humor. Ms. Pikachu can entertain herself for what feels like hours by just doing gas-passing imitations and commentary. When going down the road you just turn off the radio and let her put on a show. Fwwwt. "Oh there was a big one!" Splllllllt. "That was a big juicy one. I think it's eating a hole in my underwear." Trainboy laughs. It only encourages her. Sppppwoooot. "That one was so big it ripped out my pants!" Splplplplpl. "Open the windows or we're all gonna to die!"
She delights in obnoxious behavior. As a parent you try to moderate that. We're not trying to raise barbarians. But sometimes you just join in and go with it. A few days ago I showed her the George Carlin manuever. That's where you bend a finger down to the palm and then stick the bent knuckle up to a nostril. It looks like the rest or your finger is up your nose. The wife did not think that I was helping. I tried. Ms Pikachu thought it was screams. As long as she has a finger up her nose she isn't making farting sounds.
For supper this evening we went to an indoor play area for kids. It's one of those places with a couple stories of tubes the kids can crawl through, obstacles to run through. Little kids love it. Ms. Pikachu does not love it anymore. She's gotten big enough she can't blitz through them like she once did. She declared it boring and focused on her Game Boy.
Fortunately, we weren't there for very long and a woman brought her boy to our table. His name was Christopher, and he actually is in Trainboy's class. Away they went at high speed. Watching the tubes it was never long before catching another glimpse of them running, sliding and screaming with great joy and abandon. By the time he got back to the table for pizza he was quite flushed.
It was a good thing for him because a few weeks ago he had sadly informed me he didn't have any friends. His friend at school had moved away and he didn't have a friend anymore. God that hurt. What do you say? A five-year-old isn't interested in platitudes. And you can't fool them into thinking people are interchangeable, they know better than that. Sometimes it seems the most important moments defy words and all that's left, is to hold a hand, or to give a hug.
Seeing him play with Christopher made me as happy as he was. Oftentimes when you're a kid you feel so alone. When you become a parent you realize that while you were riding life's rollercoaster your parents were right behind you, hanging on, giving a word of encouragement, often not able to do much more than just be there.
Christopher's mother asked if maybe Trainboy could visit a few times this summer. You know she's trying her best for her son too. The wife said certainly, and perhaps Christopher could visit too. This could be a memorable summer for Trainboy. All of them are for his parents.
Publicserf
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
-To catch up on accounts around here.. is about impossible. The kids are amusing every day. If it doesn't get written it gets forgotten. Here are a few things I still remember.
We were eating supper Saturday and Ms. Pikachu declared she was stuffed, she was bloated.. Trainboy responded with "Bloated is loaded." I still think it's funny.
Both of them are very much into bodily function humor. Ms. Pikachu can entertain herself for what feels like hours by just doing gas-passing imitations and commentary. When going down the road you just turn off the radio and let her put on a show. Fwwwt. "Oh there was a big one!" Splllllllt. "That was a big juicy one. I think it's eating a hole in my underwear." Trainboy laughs. It only encourages her. Sppppwoooot. "That one was so big it ripped out my pants!" Splplplplpl. "Open the windows or we're all gonna to die!"
She delights in obnoxious behavior. As a parent you try to moderate that. We're not trying to raise barbarians. But sometimes you just join in and go with it. A few days ago I showed her the George Carlin manuever. That's where you bend a finger down to the palm and then stick the bent knuckle up to a nostril. It looks like the rest or your finger is up your nose. The wife did not think that I was helping. I tried. Ms Pikachu thought it was screams. As long as she has a finger up her nose she isn't making farting sounds.
For supper this evening we went to an indoor play area for kids. It's one of those places with a couple stories of tubes the kids can crawl through, obstacles to run through. Little kids love it. Ms. Pikachu does not love it anymore. She's gotten big enough she can't blitz through them like she once did. She declared it boring and focused on her Game Boy.
Fortunately, we weren't there for very long and a woman brought her boy to our table. His name was Christopher, and he actually is in Trainboy's class. Away they went at high speed. Watching the tubes it was never long before catching another glimpse of them running, sliding and screaming with great joy and abandon. By the time he got back to the table for pizza he was quite flushed.
It was a good thing for him because a few weeks ago he had sadly informed me he didn't have any friends. His friend at school had moved away and he didn't have a friend anymore. God that hurt. What do you say? A five-year-old isn't interested in platitudes. And you can't fool them into thinking people are interchangeable, they know better than that. Sometimes it seems the most important moments defy words and all that's left, is to hold a hand, or to give a hug.
Seeing him play with Christopher made me as happy as he was. Oftentimes when you're a kid you feel so alone. When you become a parent you realize that while you were riding life's rollercoaster your parents were right behind you, hanging on, giving a word of encouragement, often not able to do much more than just be there.
Christopher's mother asked if maybe Trainboy could visit a few times this summer. You know she's trying her best for her son too. The wife said certainly, and perhaps Christopher could visit too. This could be a memorable summer for Trainboy. All of them are for his parents.
Publicserf
http://publicserf.blogspot.com
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
An apology is in order. It is obvious there hasn't been a Public Serf post in about a week. Both of you ask why. So I'll tell you. My fragile psyche was bummed. It's true, it's true.
What's in the CD player: The Monkees
There I was- checking out other blogs, going from blogger to blogger and every stinking one wrote better than I do. I could only dream of being so witty or knowledgeable. Suddenly I felt like a clown who wasn't funny, or an essayist who was a bore, neither should be seen nor read. Writing was enjoyable, but it suddenly seemed so useless. Wanted to write. Couldn't write. I was conflicted, and depressed.
But you want it, so here goes.
In the news: Richard Chamberlain has outed himself. http://entertainment.msn.com/news/article.aspx?news=123941 TV 05/31
On a side note, if I had any idea how to make that link effective by clicking on his name I'd do it. Don't know how, can't.
Back to Richard. I like him. Always have. Envied him on Dr. Kildare for being so cool, envied him in the Three Musketeers because he got to work with Oliver Reed. Perhaps you remember the particular scene that imbedded itself in my gray matter- they find Oliver Reed sitting on a sidewalk, leaning back against a building, and at hand is a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread. You knew that life couldn't get much better than being there. Drinking wine, eating bread, listening to his stories. What a way to spend an afternoon. What a guy.
Back to Richard... again. So he's "out." It certainly takes some courage to make an announcement like that. But it hardly seemed necessary, even I knew he was gay. Since I'm always the last to know anything it seems safe to assume the only one he surprised were the cloistered Nuns at the Our Blessed Lady of the Impassable Walls Convent deep in the heart of Tibet. Which, is to say, again, just in case you're having trouble staying awake, that it seemed a poorly kept secret.
And as long as I'm digressing all over the place- here's another movie scene, this one a bitch. The scene in the Indiana Jones flick where he has to pick which cup is the Holy Grail. He picks the plainest one and declares, "This is the cup of a carpenter." Nice thought, but totally irrelevant. Christ didn't own anything but the clothes on his back. He certainly didn't walk around with a large chalice like a soap-on-a-rope dangling from his waist. It clearly says in the Bible that when they reached Jerusalem the room for the Last Supper had been prepared for them in advance, Matthew 26. It was somebody else's chalice. It could have looked as plain as a "carpenter's cup" or it could have looked like the Lady of the House spent too much time shopping on QVC. It could have been encrusted with Brilliantes or Diamoniques. There's just no way to know. What you do know is- there is no bitch too petty to inflict on you.
Back to Richard. Oh, let's not, he needs a rest. I know, how about Michael Jackson? Yeah, yeah, here we..eeee go.
http://www.msnbc.com/news/917781.asp May 23, Music News
According to this Jacko is having financial problems. His album sales have sagged, his spending has not. What with lawsuit settlements, the high price of surgical mutilation, and artificial insemination it's somewhat understandable. That last one shocks you? Oh please, is there a human being alive who can imagine Jackson knowing a woman in the, ah hem, Biblical Way? Or any human being for that matter. He can write lyrics all day, but that's one verb he cannot conjugate.
When it was first announced he was an expectant daddy, was I the only one who suspected that conception required his white glove and a turkey baster? Okay, the turkey baster would be too big. Syringe? Still too big. Eyedropper? Hey, let's leave him some dignity. An eyedropper it is. There's a temptation to get into some really vulgar scenarios right here. Can't bring myself to do it. You have fun and tell me all about it.
I don't like how he named his kids either. Named them both "Prince." As though being the self-proclaimed King of Pop his kids are automatically Princes. It might even be worse than being one of George Foreman's "George" kids....... Yeah, it is worse. Foreman has never been stupid enough to dangle his kid over a guardrail. Foreman has taken brain-damaging hits from the best and he still thinks clearer that Jacko.
And another thing, what's with the surgical masks on the kids? Is it really possible the kids are going to wander away and be lured into a strange man's car who recognizes them? Who will take them back to his mysterious place, where he will entertain them with videos, before going nightey-night with them. Just another day in Neverland.
Or maybe the masks are because Jacko is already having their noses cut so small they'll be mouth breathers. You know, plastic surgery as a bonding thing. Oh look, they're all bleached and mutilated just like their daddy! Just look at 'em, you can really tell they came from his eyedropper. It's so sweet.
I'll Bennett that when the kids grow up they change their names. Then they'll be referred to as..... 'The Kids Formerly Known As Prince.' Don't groan, you knew it was coming.
You say, How can you say that? Aren't you scared he'll sue you to a lower level of serfdom? No, I'm feeling Bennett, I'm willing to bet he can't afford an attorney willing to sue me. There's no money in pro bono work. Let's be real, he's never going to know about this anyway. I'm not sending it to his fan club, they aren't going to read it, he doesn't need to read it.
What Jacko does need is somebody with the cajones to say, "thees is no bien Miguel."
And a cheaper accountant. His financial advisors are claiming he owes them $12 million in fees and expenses, plus interest. This is insane. He hired them five years ago to help straighten out his finances, and has already paid them $3 million. His advisors would surely claim they've helped. Like a bill for $12 million more and finances on the brink of bankruptcy. Thanks a lot. Pleasure doing business with you. Worked for Enron too? His financial advisors are South Korean. Moon probably had the mass wedding to end all mass weddings. This pahty on Michael, we down with that.
Moon hasn't been in the news lately. Maybe he's recovering from a nose job. And a skin bleaching. He does have the money to sue me to lower serfdom. But I don't care, I'm feeling Bennett.
A $12 million accounting bill. Yowza, it's just unbelievable. Perhaps Jacko's problem is that he overpays his help, his maid probably moved into a gated neighborhood and has her own maid. For a flat one million dollars I'll write checks for eight hours a day for the rest of my life. Balance the checkbook everyday, and tell him, "Michael, you can't buy gold monkey bars for the monkeys. It's sweet that you want to, but the monkeys don't care. They just want a banana. If you keep spending like this you're going to wind up living with a bunch of nuns in Tibet." But he, the nuns, and little boys would be safe.
I don't write for a week and you get this?
Publicserf
-
Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com
An apology is in order. It is obvious there hasn't been a Public Serf post in about a week. Both of you ask why. So I'll tell you. My fragile psyche was bummed. It's true, it's true.
What's in the CD player: The Monkees
There I was- checking out other blogs, going from blogger to blogger and every stinking one wrote better than I do. I could only dream of being so witty or knowledgeable. Suddenly I felt like a clown who wasn't funny, or an essayist who was a bore, neither should be seen nor read. Writing was enjoyable, but it suddenly seemed so useless. Wanted to write. Couldn't write. I was conflicted, and depressed.
But you want it, so here goes.
In the news: Richard Chamberlain has outed himself. http://entertainment.msn.com/news/article.aspx?news=123941 TV 05/31
On a side note, if I had any idea how to make that link effective by clicking on his name I'd do it. Don't know how, can't.
Back to Richard. I like him. Always have. Envied him on Dr. Kildare for being so cool, envied him in the Three Musketeers because he got to work with Oliver Reed. Perhaps you remember the particular scene that imbedded itself in my gray matter- they find Oliver Reed sitting on a sidewalk, leaning back against a building, and at hand is a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread. You knew that life couldn't get much better than being there. Drinking wine, eating bread, listening to his stories. What a way to spend an afternoon. What a guy.
Back to Richard... again. So he's "out." It certainly takes some courage to make an announcement like that. But it hardly seemed necessary, even I knew he was gay. Since I'm always the last to know anything it seems safe to assume the only one he surprised were the cloistered Nuns at the Our Blessed Lady of the Impassable Walls Convent deep in the heart of Tibet. Which, is to say, again, just in case you're having trouble staying awake, that it seemed a poorly kept secret.
And as long as I'm digressing all over the place- here's another movie scene, this one a bitch. The scene in the Indiana Jones flick where he has to pick which cup is the Holy Grail. He picks the plainest one and declares, "This is the cup of a carpenter." Nice thought, but totally irrelevant. Christ didn't own anything but the clothes on his back. He certainly didn't walk around with a large chalice like a soap-on-a-rope dangling from his waist. It clearly says in the Bible that when they reached Jerusalem the room for the Last Supper had been prepared for them in advance, Matthew 26. It was somebody else's chalice. It could have looked as plain as a "carpenter's cup" or it could have looked like the Lady of the House spent too much time shopping on QVC. It could have been encrusted with Brilliantes or Diamoniques. There's just no way to know. What you do know is- there is no bitch too petty to inflict on you.
Back to Richard. Oh, let's not, he needs a rest. I know, how about Michael Jackson? Yeah, yeah, here we..eeee go.
http://www.msnbc.com/news/917781.asp May 23, Music News
According to this Jacko is having financial problems. His album sales have sagged, his spending has not. What with lawsuit settlements, the high price of surgical mutilation, and artificial insemination it's somewhat understandable. That last one shocks you? Oh please, is there a human being alive who can imagine Jackson knowing a woman in the, ah hem, Biblical Way? Or any human being for that matter. He can write lyrics all day, but that's one verb he cannot conjugate.
When it was first announced he was an expectant daddy, was I the only one who suspected that conception required his white glove and a turkey baster? Okay, the turkey baster would be too big. Syringe? Still too big. Eyedropper? Hey, let's leave him some dignity. An eyedropper it is. There's a temptation to get into some really vulgar scenarios right here. Can't bring myself to do it. You have fun and tell me all about it.
I don't like how he named his kids either. Named them both "Prince." As though being the self-proclaimed King of Pop his kids are automatically Princes. It might even be worse than being one of George Foreman's "George" kids....... Yeah, it is worse. Foreman has never been stupid enough to dangle his kid over a guardrail. Foreman has taken brain-damaging hits from the best and he still thinks clearer that Jacko.
And another thing, what's with the surgical masks on the kids? Is it really possible the kids are going to wander away and be lured into a strange man's car who recognizes them? Who will take them back to his mysterious place, where he will entertain them with videos, before going nightey-night with them. Just another day in Neverland.
Or maybe the masks are because Jacko is already having their noses cut so small they'll be mouth breathers. You know, plastic surgery as a bonding thing. Oh look, they're all bleached and mutilated just like their daddy! Just look at 'em, you can really tell they came from his eyedropper. It's so sweet.
I'll Bennett that when the kids grow up they change their names. Then they'll be referred to as..... 'The Kids Formerly Known As Prince.' Don't groan, you knew it was coming.
You say, How can you say that? Aren't you scared he'll sue you to a lower level of serfdom? No, I'm feeling Bennett, I'm willing to bet he can't afford an attorney willing to sue me. There's no money in pro bono work. Let's be real, he's never going to know about this anyway. I'm not sending it to his fan club, they aren't going to read it, he doesn't need to read it.
What Jacko does need is somebody with the cajones to say, "thees is no bien Miguel."
And a cheaper accountant. His financial advisors are claiming he owes them $12 million in fees and expenses, plus interest. This is insane. He hired them five years ago to help straighten out his finances, and has already paid them $3 million. His advisors would surely claim they've helped. Like a bill for $12 million more and finances on the brink of bankruptcy. Thanks a lot. Pleasure doing business with you. Worked for Enron too? His financial advisors are South Korean. Moon probably had the mass wedding to end all mass weddings. This pahty on Michael, we down with that.
Moon hasn't been in the news lately. Maybe he's recovering from a nose job. And a skin bleaching. He does have the money to sue me to lower serfdom. But I don't care, I'm feeling Bennett.
A $12 million accounting bill. Yowza, it's just unbelievable. Perhaps Jacko's problem is that he overpays his help, his maid probably moved into a gated neighborhood and has her own maid. For a flat one million dollars I'll write checks for eight hours a day for the rest of my life. Balance the checkbook everyday, and tell him, "Michael, you can't buy gold monkey bars for the monkeys. It's sweet that you want to, but the monkeys don't care. They just want a banana. If you keep spending like this you're going to wind up living with a bunch of nuns in Tibet." But he, the nuns, and little boys would be safe.
I don't write for a week and you get this?
Publicserf
-