I think I may be allergic to something in Nobus.  Drywall dust, maybe.  Or spider eggs.  My chapstick got locked in an edit bay.  Dammit.  I need Vaseline.

Last week I drank a Tab that had been abandoned by Quentin Tarantino.  It was a sort of depressingly vague brush with greatness, but a joyously distinct brush with Tab, so I guess it evens out.

Things are disappearing from my wallet.  Things no one would want to steal.  It's creepy.

'Is cholesterol a food group?' John wondered idly as he ate his pseudo-scrambled eggs.  Last week his diet had consisted largely of eggs.  These eggs were a sort of throwback.  This week's staple was Italian sausage.  John's digestive tract had no idea what was going on, but had an uneasy suspicion that it could not end well.

Pardon the POV shift.  That felt like a third-person musing.

At least I've switched to rice milk.  Maybe I'll die a little less today because of it.  Rice milk is the bomb-diggity.  You're not supposed to ween babies on it, but it'd be awesome if you did and it affected their personality.  I bet your child would grow up to be a vegetarian, regardless of societal input and with no need for peer pressure from fellow grungy campus hippies.  And he probably wouldn't be a breast man.  Or breast woman, if it's a girl and she ends up swinging that way.  I bet she would, too.  Because if there's one thing I've learned in my travels, it is this:

Lesbians.  Love.  Rice.