Monday, June 4, 2012
When I was seven years old, my Christmas present was a gift that keeps on giving: chicken pox. My mom probably brought me over to see little Dennis when he had them on purpose. He’d have been about two at the time, so he probably doesn’t remember it. The idea, of course, is that they wanted me to get chicken pox and get them over with while I was still a kid, ’cause they’re a lot worse when you get them as a grown-up. Nowaways we live in a more civilized age where we can vaccinate, but they didn’t have the chicken pox vaccine when I was a kid, or wingnuts like Michele Bachmann crusading against it.
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Saturday, July 2, 2011
It’s either a slow news week, or I’ve gotten sick of The Casey Anthony Show and stopped watching. So today I’ll be blogging about your friend and mine, the indispensable John.
That’s John as in toilet, and toilet as in “flushing 332 dollars down the toilet.” Almost literally, that’s what we had to do this week. Our old “throne” was on its last leg, and had started to leak so badly it was dripping into the downstairs units. So we had to go to Home Depot to buy a new one, which cost a hundred bucks even going cheap. One model we looked at claimed to be able to flush a bucket of golf balls, but we don’t have …
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