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Stewing in my own juices

Brewed on November 13, 2005.

Great Custer’s ghost! Great Eigencuster’s ghost! I almost forgot about Hitler again this week, and semper sic tyrannis, too! Those are too important to forget—especially now that 666 is really 616, pi is really 3.15, and 1-800-CALL-ATT is the same as *69!

The garden gnomes are gone once again; once again they’ve left me alone to stew in my own juices in a small kettle mounted on the top of my ponderously large cast-iron stove. They flushed themselves down the toilet, one by one, laughing and giggling, snorting and snorkeling, sniggering and snickering as they jumped in, reverse, inverse, and converse, each and every of them. (They look like smurfs, but pinker, you know that?) All gone. All gone. I hope they don’t come back, but I know they will—they infest my home, my life, and this entire website: They infest it like a giant mound of bumblebees trapped in a termite mound under an anthill.

I suppose my only hope now is Alyssa Milano slathered in catsup and riding barefoot on the back of a Carpathian Yapping Hound.