Are you There God, It's Me, The Guv'ner

Dear God,

What have you done with Bert and T.? I don't actually believe in you, God, but if you do exist I'm sure you believe in me, therefore, please let me know where Mr. Bananas and Big T. are because I'm getting kind of worried, ya know? Are they being held hostage by wild coyotes in the desert somewhere, unable to crawl to a water pool for sustenance, limbs hanging by a thread, throats parched like sandpaper? Did they elope to Mexico and not tell us and are, even as we speak, living a life of debauched luxury in Acapulco surrounded by Latin lovelies? Are they looking for Lord Lucan? Please God, I'm worried for their balls. It's golf season in SoCal you know.

Love,
The Guv'ner

Kat Rocket Gets a Year More Fabulous

Saturday was the fabulous Miss Katrocket's birthday and I assume Canada was awash in Labatt's and frosting and hot car-racing men in tight leather, carrying chilled champagne in celebration.

Myself, I wrote a poem in commemoration of the lady who just proved that even cool, popular, cutting edge gals possibly once sported a mullet.

BIRTHDAY OF THE KAT

There's booze and there's cheer
For Kat's birthday is here
And Canada's back in the race
To head south, I must mention
You have no intention
But the border is closed just in case
There'll be wine there'll be cheer
Naked men toting beer
There'll be cake full of frosting and glaze
There'll be glamour and glitz
Kat screams "LOOK AT MY TITS!"
Before falling down flat on her face

OK, I never claimed to be a poet. But (belated) happy birthday miss Kat!!!! I hope all the cake/booze/men came true.

The Gland...It is Watching You

I have a gland of death.

Before anyone thinks that would make an excellent concept for a horror/porn movie, the gland in question is in my neck and it hurts!

I've had this pesky pestilence since before Thanksgiving and it keeps mutating and infecting other parts of my respiratory system. Last night my breathing sounded exactly like Darth Vadar! And smelled just as evil. The cats dove for cover under the bed and the neighbourhood quaked in fear, but I was high on Robitussin so I merely waved an indifferent hand and went to sleep.

I have had sore throat, scratchy throat, red throat, dry throat, phlegmy chest, coughy chest, bronchitis nastiness and now the wheezy breath and the gland of death.

OH...

That should so be a band. Coming to a Heavy Metal Hair-fest near you: Wheezy Breath and the Gland of Death. It should feature a tiny geriatric rocker like Brett Michaels and his walking frame and there should be oxygen tank refills between songs.

Everyone is sick. The world is ending.