borderline

Warning: Anti-Bush sentiment ahead without political context.

So the other day I found a package waiting for me at the door. At the time, I was thinking about poultry, and how it must suck to have an entire skin condition named after your species, like "goosebumps," and how close that distinction had come to going to the chickens, who display the same skin condition when plucked. Basically, if it weren't for some odd eating habits in the middle-ages, we could've all been going around saying, "Look, I have chickenbumps!" instead of "Look, I have goosebumps!" and wouldn't that have been weird? Because chickenbumps just doesn't have the same ring as goosebumps. And what if the aliens who occasionally kidnap backwoods farmers out of their pickup trucks and impregnate their wives have a similar word coined off of humans, and go around their spaceships saying, "Ew, you have human-danglies!" --although hopefully aliens are both smarter and more sophisticated than your average fraternity boy, and would have come up with something a little more subtle.

And yes, it is confusing living in my head, and why do you ask?

So, as I say, I walked up the stairs to my apartment and found a package waiting on my doorstep, which pretty much derailed my thought processes for a little while. The box said Amazon.com. "Well," I thought. "What if it's a bomb?" because the ponderings about aliens had inevitably turned to thoughts about Dubya, and I was trying to pretend I was Dubya to see what sorts of thoughts might go through his head.

"It might be a bomb," I decided, still being Dubya, and stood over it for a few moments, waiting for the Secret Service to come disarm it. However, it turns out that imaginary Secret Service agents presented with a potential explosive device at the feet of an equally imaginary Dubya, will display the same laissez-faire attitudes of Republicans towards corporate malfeasance or, say, Dubya's dogs towards a pretzel-choking Dubya. After a disappointing period of unexcitement, I jumped up and down on the package, just to make sure it wasn't a bomb, then brought it inside to see what it was.

It was a book, which I probably would have realized, if I hadn't been pretending to be Dubya. As a matter of fact, a reader (whose name sounds a lot like "Joanna") sent me Pigs Have Wings by P.G. Wodehouse, who happens to be a writer that the non-Dubya me absolutely loves.

Unfortunately, the Dubya me read the title, shouted, "I knew it!!" (presumably because pigs having wings somehow validated his worldview) and dashed off into the bathroom to devise a plan -- beg pardon, I meant a series of actionable items -- to invade Japan, for once attempting to kill his daddy with a bad steak.

It turned out that toilet paper isn't exactly the best material for writing on, so I moved on and decided not to be Dubya after all.

There was no point to that entry beyond hi, I'm back from Louisiana, and thanks for the present, Joanna.

Just in case you were wondering.