At this point I’d just like to make it clear that our father invented the Wooly Mollusk one night at dinner, almost a year before they discovered that freakish furry albino lobster thing. Which frightens me.
Because I really hope life doesn’t start imitating our Sunday night dinner conversations. If it does, animals will start to wear the skin of other animals, Communists will take over Peru, everything in the universe will add up to eleven and we’ll have to put a portcullis on our house. On the upside, I’ll be directly related to God and I shall be given a small island in exchange for my many years of dedicated service.
I promised about six months ago to write more about the Wooly Mollusk and I never did because I suck. My only defense is that my co-author sucks more. I’ll get around to it soon. Seriously. Like you even care. Is there anyone out there? Helllooo? Where are we, Wyoming?




Update- sent missive to Father outlining intent to finally publish story of Wooly Mollusk. Received the following response: Very good. Follow up w/ ref to caves, fear, and golf.



I almost just typed something about how it's a wonder I turned out as normal as I did, but then I remembered that I have to be sincere and honest this week, because of a bet that I WON but somehow I'm doing the forfeit anyway. What kind of person are you when the punishments people devise for you are along the lines of "you're not allowed to be a megalomaniac or use any rhetorical exaggerations of any kind for a whole week"?? I HATE when people know me.