Scraping off the rust

I feel like B.M. at the moment, and I have no specific plan for this, but I figured I'd try to force the issue and see if I can try to work my way back up to form, see if I can recapture the magic that won this site 3 straight Webbies in 1997-'99. I'm not expecting this to be any good, but I can't say that it bothers me. Let's roll.

A funny thing happened to me on the way into the office this morning. About a mile and a half from my townhouse (I live in Townhouse Village, by the way, right by the putt-putt on Route 3), I noticed ol' Lucybelle (my Vanagon*) was running low on oil, so I turned off into Pop Magroo's Fill-'er-up station. So, I pull in, and I get out of ol' Lucybelle, and I see young Gussy-Loo over by the diesel pump. So I says, "Now, Gussy-Loo"--Gussy-Loo is Pop and Fenel-Anne's 2nd youngest, of their blood-children...


All right. This is just like riding a bike. I fell off just now, but I'm okay. Barely a scrape. Still, my endurance is not what it should be. I need to work up to that. I had kind of a lingering cold for a while and my respiratory system is still ailing a little. I really shouldn't try to overdo it. Anyway, I was just trying to see if I could do it, and I couldn't. There's no shame in that. I tried, it wasn't going anywhere, and I gave up, the same as countless other great men and women, most recently Fred Thompson. Judge me and you judge America. And when you judge America, then why not just move to Stalingrad now, Frenchy. Tell me that why, smarty-face. Tell me that why.



* Normally, I don't like to buy German products, not after what they done in WWI, but it's a beautiful machine, can haul ass like a tank on acid, and has plenty of cargo room for transporting dozens of boxes of my newsletter, "The Bargain Hunter's Bible". For what's worth,the reason I say WWI is, a) at the time, they called it the war to end all wars, and until I hear otherwise, I will continue to consider everything that's followed it to be either a conflict, a skirmish, or a free-for-all, depending on number of lives claimed, and b) I still blame WWII on the Italians mostly, which is why I have not worn a tank top or beaten my wife for fucking up the sauce once since April 7, 1939, the day Mussolini invaded Albania and forced King Zog into exile. In our heart, you live forever in Albania, our great King, blessed Zog, may you rule us evermore.