O inspiration, where art thou? It seems the creek of creativity - which once overfloweth and brought fertile Web log entries to the starving citizens of Blogland - is now as dry as... hmm. A pre-coital Liz Taylor? My mouth after a night of recklessly liberal drinking? Let's resort directly to the lowest common denominator: an unlubed anal cavity. As dry as an unlubed anal cavity! Now that's comedy.

I'm "working" on a new layout, similar to the way in which I am "working" on my 'zine. As you may or may not have guessed, I have presumptuously redefined the term "working", once believed to be "physical or mental effort or activity directed toward the production or accomplishment of something." The accomplishment of something? Truly, a definition as sweeping as my mother's cleaning lady of Mexican descent! Replace "something" with "intoxication" - a clever but practical switcheroo! - and suddenly, I'm "working" harder than the aforementioned cleaning lady after another of my mother's benzodiazepine-fueled tantrums!

Alas, it is time to settle down with my textbooks. To study, perchance to learn! Don't believe me? Ask the dishes.