Yawn!

Slow coupla days here. Slow as in absolutely nothing going on, at work anyway. Home is the usual asylum. The Better Half informs me that the repairman can't repair the washing machine, so I'm looking at another expense. Maytag Dependability, my rear leg. You wanna field test new washing machines? Send it to my house for a month; if it can survive that, it can survive anything short of a direct hit by a nuclear warhead.

Same goes for kids toys. If it can survive intact with my kids for over a month, it is virtually indestructible (man, I didn't realize that word would be so hard to spell! Brain must be shutting down, again.). Think I'll take a lesson from Bigwig and start having conversations with my ego. I can't use Zod as my alter ego, 'cause Bigwig did it first. Maybe I'll name it My Evil Twin, MET for short. Or just ET, for the hell of it. Does anyone else notice that I'm doing the typing equivalent of babbling?

ET: Well, now that you mention it . . .

Me: Don't start on me, it's been a rough week.

ET: I know (snicker, snicker).

Me: And just what is THAT supposed to mean?

ET: Nuthin', man, nuthin'. Just commenting.

Me: I wonder if Bigwig puts up with this kind of crap from Zod.

ET: Who do you think I learned it from in the first place?

Me: I'm screwed.
  ¶ 5:09 PM