The information super cul de sac

That's what Wimpkiller is. I see other websites like gas stations or hotels on the metaphorical Internet highway. Wimpkiller is like a cul de sac in a hip, pre-gentry neighborhood.

Anyway, Baby and I spent our MEMORIAL DAY packing the house up. It's a good feeling to have as much done as we do, and to get rid of stuff we don't need. Speaking of which, if anybody needs a truck-sized band-type OIL FILTER WRENCH (Rupato should remember buying this on accident), an extremely ugly cloth PURSE, a Sony digital ANSWERING MACHINE, an unopened TABOO game, or a FOLDING LUGGAGE CART, send me an e-mail.

I also got my FINANCIAL AID AWARD LETTER this weekend. Woo-hoo! Maybe I'll be able to get that job soon.

Oh, and Krista: we live in Durham, NC (home of the world's butchest lesbians), and we're moving to Pasadena, CA -- Home of Beck Hansen, Trader Joe's, and Fuller Theological Seminary.

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Baby was hit on relentlessly yesterday by our hillbilly neighbor Dick at the laundromat. Dick's probably about 60 years old. He grabbed the newpaper out of her hands and started reading it out loud. "See? I can read! I bet you thought I couldn't," he boasted. Baby found her way away from Dick only to be hit on by Cruz. If you want to hear more, Baby's going to have to write about it herself.

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The best Hank Hill quote ever -- by far -- is:

"Peggy, I'm trying to control this outbreak and you're driving the monkey to the airport."