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So yesterday morning I left the half sub I had saved for lunch on the chair in my apartment. Knowing I wouldn't be back until that evening, I polled various people about the safety of eating the sub for supper. Males all said sure, go for it, what the hell. Might have the shits for a couple of days, but so what? Females all said absolutely not! and quizzed me about exact contents of the sandwich. One even went so far as to explain to me how the vinegar in the mayonnaise broke down the eggs into various deadly poisons. Carefully weighing the competing arguments, I went home after work and ate the sub. Obviously I'm still here, so I wasn't poisoned, and actually I felt good all day. So there. Unless you suspect someone else is writing this, a henchman perhaps, while I recuperate in a secluded private nursing home, and every day it's touch and go as I try to regain control of my bodily functions. Or maybe you think that, anticipating my imminent demise, I wrote out a couple of days' worth of entries in advance and right now my body is decomposing on the bathroom floor. Well, I guess it wouldn't be decomposing yet. But here's proof that I'm really here in real time: on the bus home tonight I overheard a conversation about some trial or other. One person says: "You hear what they did on the teevee? They awarded Anna Nicole to the baby!" Other person: "Do what now?" First person: "The baby! They awarded Anna Nicole to the baby!" So however you want to translate that, it's obviously something that happened today, and I could not possibly have predicted it from my deathbed yesterday, you'll have to admit.


Wait, that's not his name. Spanky? Spunky? Shit!