bollox

Perhaps it won't die if we all clap our hands.

Bite me.

Headline:
Kucinich Hands Election to Republicans, demonizes Dean...

I had a fine time today.

Had the air conditioner repaired.

Ate Thai noodles.

Went to a French movie (1946).

Wrote fart jokes for my fart film.

Am going to a dinner party in 20 minutes.

No, you.

Blow me!

Let us all give a warm welcome to a wayward bolloxian, a prodigal son, returned to his lair, the great SOB! Give us a few words, Mr. GUB.

Wanna know who won the 2003 Gandhi Peace Award? Mr. Kucinich, that's who. check out his acceptance speech.

Ah, the faithful continue to post. Thank you, thank you. I've been preoccupied with home matters. Remind me to tell you the story. In the meantime, carry on.

WK,

Give us fair warning when you become your character who kills.

1) It's entertaining to be excessively sincere. I laugh, I write, I sit. I laugh some more. I sit again. I tear up my writing. I laugh and laugh.

2) If you reject, as I did, that a presidential candidate should be supported merely because he can win (after all, Bush can win, but I'm not supporting him on that basis), you are free to follow your conscience and choose someone who truly represents your values. For me, that's Mr. Kucinich. It's quite simple, really, to have integrity.

3) The moral high ground is easy; I merely do what feels right to me. If that happens to put me on a level above Handsome Willy's, well, what wouldn't?

4) Why would I want to remove the weight of the universe from my shoulders? I don't want to experience the incredible lightness of being.

Can we move on, now?

What's become of the SOB persona?

Bob, are you interested in an editor? I may volunteer to do a bit of editing for free, if you aren't too thin-skinned.

What a fascinating collection of writers! I'm so proud to be a part of bollox where I can rub shoulders with all you creative types. And Fred, I must say, your latest choice of names is most revealing. It's a Gub-like moniker, innit? Is it a confession, of sorts?

Bob, do you think you would feel the same about your writing if you were writing something deeper? A tragedy, say? Or even just a realistic novel that spoke to current social and political mores? Escapism is the way to go! BTW, I finished your 3rd chapter. Most entertaining. I'm curious to see what you're working toward with the Duckwall thing.

Debbi, don't buy expensive rugs. Your cat is merely expressing his disappointment in one who would squander money on rugs in a world where people are starving. Listen to his concerns. Don't become a famous rich writer (like others I could name) who indulges herself in earthly pleasures when there's a world of hurt to correct.

Kitten, dealing with the public is all a matter of attitude. See them as the treasures they are. What a privilege to serve! You are truly blessed.

That's my advice for today. Tomorrow I may sing a different tune. Who can say? There's always that dog and that door.

Or sometimes I laugh, write and sit...

WK,

Perhaps it was your poo and you just forgot you did it.

If you become your characters, what sort of characters do you write?

I'm like Bob. I sit, write and laugh.

Why the night?

After I pay my rent, I may have enough money to buy some food. I was excessively sincere in my efforts to balance my budget, but why do I care? I should just follow this example.

Do you really think you can divert me by redirecting questions, Frederick? I ask you if you are SOB and suddenly you want an accounting of my personality traits and politics. Sorry, son. I'm not talking until I get some answers.

As for the methane issue: we all have our brushes with methane, but need we wallow in it? You seem to glory in your ability to create a powerful smell. And, yes, you're correct: I have no right to censor you. Go to it, bolloxians!

Who's finished Bob's novel?

I would like for Mare to tell us something about what's it's like to be excessively sincere.

Was it hard deciding which presidential candidate to support?

Is it exhausting to be constantly searching for the moral high ground?

Can you ever remove the weight of the universe form your shoulders?

I am currently working on a subscription only novel called THE FARTERS FATE.

It is about how excessively sincere people contribute to the misunderstanding of the noble victims of flatulence.

The mountians were loud. All the frogs and insects were up all night screaming. I kept hoping for a gun fight to break out to shut them up.

I described the members of Bollox to the hardworking people of the mountains and they began rocking back and forth, waving their arms in the air and screaming for salvation.

My wife said she petted the cat before leaving for work. I asked her if she noticed it was dead. She said that at that time it was alive.

Maybe when I die, she'll talk to me for a couple of days before noticing anything is up.

For some of us, methane is a way of life -- so stop trying to censor the conversation.

And now I must rest. I flare, therefore I am.

A close reading of Fred's triumphal return-home post reveals a slam against bollox. Those Georgia mountain people don't know much, do they? They don't know when it's appropriate to express concern, for example. Or did you misrepresent bollox? Whatever the case, I hope you came to bollox's defence as any loyal bolloxian does?

What has become of SOB? Will the real SOB-player please stand up? I realize, Fred, that you've played many parts in the world's mighty gallery of pictures, but did you play SOB? If so, why did you stop? It's an act of violence, really. We expect more from our writers.

You all need some direction, judging from your posts. Shall I make assignments, or can you find something useful to do? We've heard quite enough about channeling, worms and asses. We've heard enough about methane accidents, too. Sorry, Fred. I know that's your ice-breaker, but you're going to have to learn to live without it. This mindless nattering can't go on!

So, Fred. Tell us about those mountains in a bit more detail. Are the leaves turning to Fall colors yet? Has the night air got that seasonal tang? What's the elevation of the Georgia Mountains? Are they in Georgia? Finally, what did Mrs. Fred say about the cat? I imagine she was sad. Remind her, when appropriate, that I have a lovely one-year-old seeking a loving home; Atlanta high-rises okay.

Bob, what's it like writing a romance? Do you fall in love with your characters? Is writing really the lonely task people say? Or does the loneliness pre-exist the writing and your characters fill the void? Give us a slice of the writer's life.

Kitty, I'm surprised that you haven't managed to use your witches powers to cast a spell on your supervisors at work in order to secure better working conditions. You obviously need a tune-up. Isn't there a witching school somewhere closeby? I'm concerned about your health.

Yes. I'm stupid.

It was an expensive process getting that way, but worth it.

Bob,

What do you mean by channeling?

I am also sorry to hear you've been working flip-flop shifts.

Yes. I was killed this weekend.

Kitty,

It's very patient of you to clean out asses that send you worms. I don't think I could bring myself to do it.

I have just returned from the mountains and could not wait even a second to post.

The machine in my stomach has ordered me to do this.

I am having such a swell time it is impossible to even describe it.

I had the good luck to be the guest celebrity at the Hokey Pokey Festival of the Georgia Mountains.

I appeared with a local professional wrestler called "The Blaster" and a failed country music singer called Buddy Baudelaire.

I told them all about Bollox and they seemed very concerned.