Mrs. Kurtz, fit the seventh. “What seems to be the problem?” “The problem seems to be that you’re an ass. My cable modem is broken.” “Broken how?” “How the hell should I know?” “M’am, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what the problem is.” “Bullshit. Send a repairman. I’ve wasted enough damn […]

Review. The Last Hero, by Terry Pratchett. Ill. Josh Kirby. What happens when you get old? What happens when you get old only because the world has changed too much? What happens when all the people that defined your era are dead? But for you, your gang of friends, and one last enemy? You keep

Mrs. Kurtz, On Hold, fit the sixth. “Can I have your phone number, m’am, starting with area code?” “Don’t you hang up on me. Or I will call back and talk to your manager. Scott. I know who you are. No matter how long I have to wait on hold this time. Don’t even think

Women. Apparently women do things to the male psyche that’s good for it. Or maybe it’s just the whole “I like you. You like me? Yes!” thing. Or maybe it’s friendship, closeness in general. Anyway, I’m kind of seeing a friend of mine, uh, loosen up in ways I didn’t know he was too tight.

Food Tried out a new technique for pork chops on Wednesday: brining. (Most of you can just skip this.) Brine: 4c (1 quart) water, 1/4c. salt, 1/4c. sugar. Marinate for 1 1/2 hrs, then grill, roast, or broil. Very nummy.

Tai Chi I went to my first class last night, here. I’m still trying to understand. It was good. That much I know. I woke up this morning with little soreness (mostly in the ankles, what there was of it), but my skin was waxy. Waxy! Not oily. Not sweaty or sticky. No. Pardon me

In case ye’ve not heard, the group from Florida (Roland, Philip, and Sharon) are coming to Colo. Spgs. from the 13th to the 18th. Also Steve Tooms (did I spell that right?) may be accompanying them. More than this I do not know even as a solid rumor. Much gaming is scheduled to be done.

Doyce came over on Wednesday, finally! I wonder if he has dreams about his cel phone in which it doesn’t ring–it crawls out of its holster, and sloooowly creeps up his shoulder and whispers in his ear, “Phone call, ssssir…” Then it clasps his ear in an embrace best described by H. P. Lovecraft. Apparently

Mrs. Kurtz, On Hold, part the fifth. After eighteen minutes, she was no longer amused. “Uh, what freaky messages?” The service engineer sounded sincere. “The messages I had to hear for eighteen minutes by my clock. Can you un-der-stand that? I wasted eighteen minutes of my fucking time waiting for your ass to pick up

Published! The humor/erotica short story, “Customer Service” has been accepted and posted at Hoot Island here. It is, of course, dedicated to Lee. This sort of thing happens to him all the time.