I was bleeding from a small hole on the side of my neck yesterday when I realized I could eat the whites of hard boiled eggs and save the yolks to whip at my enemies like exploding little raquetballs. The only problem with this idea is storage. I'm not sure how long the yolks will stay cohesive. They may crumble or melt before anybody I hate happens across my path while I have them handy. Since it's winter, there's no neighborhood children to pelt, so maybe I'll just leave them under car seats for the time being.

Dear friend,

We were at that bar drinking last Saturday when you invited me to sing for your band. I can't imagine what prompted the offer. I got loaded and sang calypso songs, climbed atop the bar, posed as Jesus, did my best Elmer Fudd opera impression, and composed Shakespearian poems about my elusive shoes. Somehow you decided such behavior deserved public acclaim and attention. I, for one, was ashamed the next morning. Actually I wasn't. But I should've been. I appreciate the compliment, but I think the excessive alcohol consumption and the coke rails we did in the women's washroom may have fueled your admiration for me. Fortunately the bar was mostly deserted and you cannot provide many eyewitnesses to the above. Not enough to stand up in court, considering the level of inebriation experienced by all parties present was evidenced by their backslapping approval of my immature antics. Please do not encourage such behavior in the future. It is unbecoming of an adult and a gentleman and my sterling reputation will surely suffer should I repeat that performance.

I'll probably see you there again next week. 6:34 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm