Reinsertion
Phew! I just flew in from [CENSORED] and boy, are my [CENSORED] tired!

OK, so it's clear to me already that the delicate nature of my work prohibits me from saying exactly where it was or what I was doing while I was away. All I can say is that while my mission may/may not have been to kill the president of Paraguay with a fork, it ws nearly as exciting. By that I mean that at one point, I was chased by federales. Don't worry, that's only dangerous if you're accompanied by Paul Newman.

What I can tell you is that my trip found me existing for the better part of a week in one of America's panhandles. Sorry, that's as specific as I can get, but that should at least narrow it down for you: Texas, Oklahoma, Florida, Nebraska, Alaska... If you've never been to any of these places, I'm sure you can tell from the context that geographically speaking, "panhandle" is American for "shithole".

I say "panhandle" and you immediatley think of a banjo, don't you?

It's also synonymous with the act of debasing yourself by begging other human beings to sustain you with their charity. Considering the amount of federal dollars that go to support the people who live in those regions, I'd say that's not far off.

All that said, any place is Shangri-La if you get to spend five days kid-free there. I'd do the Shawshank Andy Dufresne Sewer-Pipe Shit-Crawl to Freedom for five days in a row if it meant I didn't have to visit Higglytown or get anyone any juice at any point for the duration.

No, no, I love my kids. I really do. It's just that I love them more when other people are watching them.

The good news is that you have me here, at your blog beck and call, interruption free... for the next 4 1/2 months.

See, the bad news is I've got another trip planned, this one in early August. My travel agent quoted me some prices on that Shawshank Shit-Crawl and, well, there was a minimum age (12 or older only!). How could I say no?

The ambivalent news is that while I was away, I've practically set records for readership according to my Sitemeter thingy. I have no idea how to take this. On the one hand, you want me to leave. On the other hand, you show up in droves here--at my blog--when I'm gone. I'm at my most popular when I'm not even here, but then if there were no me, there would be no "here" for you to come to and mock me with your vigorous smart-ass interest.

Maybe it's simpler than I realized: maybe you people are just addicted to existential irony. To test this theory out, the entirety of the Bucket this week will consist of block quotes from Sartre. Nothing separates the wheat from the chaff like long passages of Les jeux sont faits in the original French. It definitely weeded out the non-believers at my Mommy & Me reading-group.

Totally got them back for making me do Lipstick Jungle... again!



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 8.9


Pops



PS- Yes, I got out on an exclamation point. I'm clearly rusty. Forgive me.

Labels: camembert

- posted by Pops @ 9:50 AM