I am a lepidopteracidal maniac. Literally that means "scaley wing killer crazy-person." In other words, I murder butterflies. That is so horrible! I don't do it on purpose, of course. I love butterflies, but not obsessively to the point that they must die if they don't return my love. It's just that when I drive, they always fly around in the middle of the road. They float gracefully in front of me, then they seem to gently touch the car, but they bounce at a quick angle into the air. I look in the rearview mirror, and the dead butterfly is swirling to the road below ... I have killed at least twenty of them, and they're usually tiger swallowtails, the biggest butterflies in America. I murder butterflies. I murder butterflies!

There are worms coming out of the bathroom faucet. Allow me to tone down your vision: They are tiny worms. I see only one worm infrequently. They're not coming out of the spout where the water runs, and not even under the knobs, but under the base. So I don't think there is a direct contamination. Plus, they've come and gone over the years, and I feel okay. But still! It looks so horrible! I'm just waiting for a visitor to notice. "You got fucking WORMS all over your sink! This is SICK!" I wouldn't know what to say ...

My kitten got bit by a wasp or something, and his jaw is grotesquely swollen. Don't worry; the swelling will go away tomorrow and he'll be alright. He looks so odd, though! I almost wanted to call him "Goiter." I am so mean!

I don't care what the "experts" say; eating is a way to combat boredom. Just looking forward to meals is fun enough! By the way, this is my metabolism talking, and it's high. Once the high is gone, it'll realize that fat is not fun. No sir. 'tain't.