I wish I could manage to post by a certain time every day — 10am, say? — but let’s face it: I’m a lazy guy. Like, insanely lazy. Fall-on-your-face, “I can’t get up” lazy. As lazy as a silver back gorilla on skates. I’d like to blame it on genetics. In fact, I will: Sellerses of the world, unite in our god-given laziness! Unite, all — well, not you, Mom (really a Cheetwood anyway), as you are an industrious sort who used to call me a “slug-a-bed” when I slept in past a “decent hour,” which I must admit was 1pm.

It’s a chore sometimes to post here at all; it’s a wonder I’ve even been getting it done. I’m beginning to question the incentive. Free donuts? Pats on the back hair? The ever-upticking and incredibly addictive stats counter on the lower left? Nay. I do it only because I can. I do it for the thrill of posting (which is as exhilarating as scrambled eggs for din-din). I do it because, in part, I seek my own approval. And I must say that I approve this message, because it is awesome.


I missed “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!” last night. And so I missed “I got a rock.” I missed “‘If!’ I said ‘if!” I’m dooooomed!” I missed “I oughta slug you!” I missed “All right, all right — let’s bob for apples!” Not fair.