I Can Smell That Sourpuss on You From Way Over Here...Ay? Huh? Ay?

You look like I could juice grapefruit on your upturned nose.

But you can't help it.

I realize that.

It's the furniture of your mind or something.

The rented furniture of your mind.

Who am I talking to? The people behind the refilling bottle for the hand soap.

The soap shadow squatters.

Them.

Anyway, Good Morning!

Today is the 2nd day of Pluviose (the "rainy" month) in the year 218 of the calendar instituted by our Dead French Brothers-in-Arms.

It's written so: 2 Pluviôse CCXVIII

Today's celebrated substance sacred to the revolution is a very pretty one: Mousse (Moss)

In French, it sounds like moss all wet with dew, doesn't it?

And grapefruit in French is pamplemousse. Very funny, right? Eh? Hmm? Ay?

See why I started with grapefruit now?

There's a method to my madness, right, Ay? Heh? Ay?

Am I annoying you to distraction yet? You fidgeting? Ay? Huh? Ay?

Bipolar people can do this all day.

Right here you're saying "But don't."

See? I'm psychic too. Ay? Huh? Ay?

I forgot to tell you yesterday's sacred substance of the Revolution yesterday.

It was splurge-laurel.

So now you know.

And now you care.

Some saint was replaced today.

I don't know who.

Google does though.

They did some miraculous stuff and now they're in Heaven.

And you're not.

You're here.

On a blog.

God help you.