It’s been days, weeks even. Yes, I know. I’m not the blogger I used to be. But what is there even to share? Romance? Don’t patronize me with such questions. Exciting reports from the road ala Vook and Pepe? No, jackhole. For all I know they could be roadkill on the side of a hot lonely interstate. Impressive new tricks Booby Muffin has learned? Maybe, but how would I know? She’s going through her natural adolescent rebellion and only gives me sharp, monosyllabic meows in answer to my queries about her day. She’s also been bringing dead island mice into the nest, and she knows that I’m afraid of them…. teenagers.

And what, ad world domination you ask? Bah. Hiss. Grumble-b-bumps. Check out this MEMO I received from Binkus in the mail today. It had globs and smears of barbecue sauce and mustard on it. That man must be stopped:

I guess I’m gonna have to see what Billy Binkus is made of, since lately I’m not made of much when it comes to winning the Binkus Wings account. Last night I had a dream that I was sitting in my nest eating a chicken and I had forgotten to pluck its feathers. Binkus is slowly killing my soul.