Because many of you read this blog at work (it's my mission to bring glittery sparkleness to your work day!), I know you may have missed all the action that happened over the holiday weekend. So I must point you in the direction of the latest episode of Weighing Pork Chop. See it and love it now if you haven't already. And, also, I'm hosting a harrowing, first-ever, live chat session during John McCain's speech at the Republican Horror Show National Convention on Thursday night. Click here for more information.

Yes, lots of action is happening here all the time! Gabriel e-mailed me this from Venice or wherever the hell he is: "How is it I've been gone barely five days and there are twenty-seven unread Bamboo Nation blog entries in my Google Reader? You're addicted to blogging. We need to do an intervention."

I can't help that I have a deep hunger that can only be satisfied by the tears of babies! Absent those, it's the adoration of the blog-reading public that keeps me going. And I'm sure even the Italians understand that.


  1. The Italians? Is that a shot?

  2. Mike, even my "light" posts are cleverly well-structured works of art. "The Italians" is a reference to Gabriel being in Venice.

    When I take a shot at you, I use "hillbilly." You know that.

  3. I'm living in a politically unstable household at the moment, my dad claims he's going to vote for McCain, my mom is undecided and I'm voting for Obama.

    It's been getting ugly. None of us finish dinner because we insult each other. My dad's like, "you're naive and young. Hope isn't going to bring change." And then I yell, "McCain! C'mon dad, Yes, he has experience, but not the experience supporting everything you've taught me to stand up for! You turncoat!"

  4. You're bold. I don't have the stomach to talk to my mom about politics.

  5. More like Bitchy and angry than bold. I just came back from having lunch at panera with a co-worker...and we were having this talk in line about Obama and this little old lady turns around and looks at me and says, "Where is he going to get the money to do all the things he's promising?!"

    Mind you, I work in Newporrt Beach, land of the Lucille Bluths. I could tell by her Gucci bag that she probably has money. I was already annoyed that she interrupted me, so I looke her in the eye and said, "he's going to tax you."

    I'm going to get shot or seomthing if I don't keep my mouth shut around here.

  6. Work has boofed me, and not in the good way either - I can no longer beat off to your witty posts at my desk (someone must have seen me spurting all over your profile photo).
    I didn't get screwed as hard as my former coworkers, though . . .

  7. "he's going to tax you."

    ...Ha ha ha ha ha!