Well, I'm feeling pokey and sorry for myself.

Calzone has never fully appreciated my womanliness. (That amalgamate zit never hit on me).
Monkey hasn't been throwing anything at me lately.

I feel it necessary to break the news: Those Two Are In Cahoots.

(Sigh) Southernspeak and Monica have been swapping ghosties, B.O.B.I. and Spinning Girl are re-telling As the World Turns, Heather is cleaning up some vomit, and Bobby just keeps drinking.

Dane is busy dodging cars and Justin is reciting poetry to women while flexing his abs. Rowan is trying to evade her mother-in-law and Crush You has all but disappeared from view.

The Unmitigated Troglodyte has been spending unaccountable hours at Denny's and there's this Clog Hater out there that is mercilessly abusing cloggers; oddly enough, Katie and Anna are both cloggers.

The Estrogen Fishbowl is swimming in female hormones, and everyone over there is gainfully employed.

Stuntmother has forgotten all about my request for a Booga Bag and I secretly think Madge is a spy, because she's too damn nice. Sleep Goblin is scurrying up walls when she's not chilling out with Moral Clay and I can't seem to get a decent night's sleep. Also, the Omaha chick keeps reminding me of simpler times in college.

Somehow, this is all Pizzaface's fault, and my only comfort has been the latent purrs of Tomm Catt. I don't think I'll be drawing any pictures for awhile.

I'm going to go to Church and think about physics.

EDIT: Harry Yak is generally so kind and warm, I really can't pick on him. Thanks, Yakkity Yak, for talking back...