Don’t try to cheer me up.

She described the festival as ten days of drinking beer and listening to tuba and accordion ensembles under the Texas sun; that didn’t really seem to qualify as the worst experience one could have in that desert wasteland. I got confuseder and confuseder until we identified our common misunderstanding: Luka was going to Wurstfest, a celebration of all things Germanic with an emphasis on sausages and other tubular meats.

Tons of meat. Beer. More meat. Texas. Worst. Of course.

When an intruder broke into Brian Waldron’s home, Waldron smashed the interloper over the head with a pipe. Waldron’s lawyers called his reaction “textbook” self-defense.

Maybe yes, maybe no.

Then Waldron dragged the would-be burglar to the bathtub and cut off his arms, legs, and head. I can see why that would make a certain amount of sense; a headless limbless torso has never hurt anyone. And then, to make sure he was completely safe, Waldron buried the remains in the Sierra. David Mugridge, Waldron’s attorney, acknowledged that the approach was “not something normal.”

Mugridge explained that his client “did not have a chance” to contact authorities. Despite the compelling explanations, Waldron is headed for a murder trial. If he’s declared innocent, I’m going to get a lead pipe and a hacksaw for those special occasions when a Glock just isn’t enough.

I’m a comparison shopper, imagine that! All my other friends call me annoyingly frugal or worse; no one seems to appreciate that saving three or six dollars a day means an extra thousand or two dollars annually. Of course, the money saved by buying cheap wine is used to buy more cheap wine, but that’s neither here nor there.

In any case, “comparison shopper” sounds much better than “exasperating cheapskate.”

On the other hand, I’d been told all sorts of strange yarns about the island, including one concerning a crofter whose dog fell down a hole on the top of the Sneug, then days later reappeared from a cleft in the side of the astonishing giant groove, the Sneck of the Smallie, that runs down at an angle through the cliffs in the valley between the Sneug and the Noup.

I have no idea how he writes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he went all the way to Scotland just to use the words Sneug, Noup, and Sneck of the Smallie.

Obama casually said “... the new puppy that's coming with us to the white house ...” as if mentioning that he put ketchup on his oatmeal, which, as an aside, he always does.

I shouldn’t be surprised that Obama’s a typical politician who waits to get elected before revealing his real agenda. A dog in the white house is exactly what America doesn’t need.

The last time the United States wasn’t fubar was when Socks the cat was in the white house. It’s true that Socks didn’t do much, but then a good cat doesn’t need to prove anything.

Another dog in the white house; this can’t be good.

I don’t fear Bolivians, not at all. I’ve never given said South Americans any thought. I don’t even know anything about Bolivians. I’ve heard rumors about some of them being involved in the alkaloid trade, but that’s of no interest to me or anyone I know. The Bolivians may grow coffee; that’s a drug I can use.

As Niklas and I talked, I discovered my Bolivian thoughts were wasted since what he really said was, “We all fear oblivion.”

Fear oblivion?! What nonsense! I’ve spent most of my life here in oblivion; the atmosphere here is most convivial and the waters of Lethe are most efficacious.