A layer of dust coats the monitor. David Bowie croons '5 years.' The house is empty, if it weren't for me typing and David Bowie, all would be silent. That desert dust finds its way into everything. Coats any surface that remains undisturbed for over 24 hours. It lines the nasal passages, creating perfect nodes around which black boogers can form. Ahh, how the black boogers of my soul ravish me daily.
(a beating would here be appropriate)
Dust, Bowie and bogies, it's all too damn dramatic.

Turkey fajitas, turkey joes, turkey chili, turkey sandwiches, turkey on a plate, turkey in a bowl, turkey here, turkey there, turkey dear and turkey fair, turkey every g.d. where. All tomorrow's stuffing has been consumed. The vegetables and cranberries are digested. Mashed potatoes gone, the lot of 'em. Lefse, it never was, but the buns have vanished. The memory remains as does so much turkey. When dispatching with thanksgiving leftovers, creativity is the turKEY. (Was that too Gene Shalit of me?)

How many words does it take to say a significant amount of nothing? Let's start at the beginning...I woke up, and after much ado have finally posted the testicle story. For all it's worth, and I don't think much, it is now presented for all to read and judge. After getting that out of the way I reluctantly showered. I always tend to reluctantly shower. It's never anything I particularly want to do but upon the shower's expunging of the cold water left in the pipes, and once the hot flows forth, I rather enjoy it. Maybe it's some old stubborn root from child-hood when a bathing shower seemed as inviting as the nazi showers that forms the slight reluctance. Maybe it's just too much effort all together. Now I'm clean and have finished my breakfast of turkey, and the last of the stuffing (hurray!). Now I have movies to return: "Trekkies," a not very probing view of Star Trek fanatics that falls far short of the entertainment it could be, "Baby Face," a silly Stanwyck flick in which she plays an icy blonde fucking her way up the corporate ladder and, in the end, to true love, but it's too late, he's dead, and "Austin Powers 2," a sequel as good, if not better than its predecessor.

What will I do after that in the city with everything and anything I or anyone else could want? Read, have a cup of coffee, maybe play some MineSweeper.

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