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 Aaannnd back on deck. Wife’s at Bunco tonight, which meant Chuck E. Fargin’ Cheese again. Then bath and stories and bed and stories and the rest. I usually write the Thursday column at the office, but the radio said John Kerry would be appearing in a Metrodome parking lot to divide up the loaves and fishes, and since that’s right across from the street I foresaw clusterfarged traffic jams. So I didn’t go in. Have to write the column tonight. Long week. You have no idea. Sometimes, come Thursday night, all I have is 16 seconds of video from Chuck E. Cheese’s, shot with the digital camera’s movie mode. That's the spider game; she's good at it. Then I asked her how she liked her food; the card filled up before I got her response. Me? Well, I ordered the chicken sub. As an Atkinite, I set aside the bread, scraped off the chicken, and beheld the following:  That was supper. And it was grey meat, too. You want to end illegal drugs? Legalize them and turn the distribution system over to Chuck E Cheese. Make crack addicts line up at CEC for thier daily vials. People will be off that crap in a week. Friday night? Proper pizza. Some time with a book. A good movie. Staying up late. And three words: Talisker. Yes, that's one word. Unless you're having three.
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