Now. Imagine my bewilderment and panic.

Got it?

But. Having survived a near-mental-apocalypse: I AM NOW A STRONGER PERSON AND CLEARLY MORE OF A MORON THAN EVEN I MIGHT HAVE THOUGHT..

Thus, this apology.

Sorry about yesterday. I suspect I�ll never trouble you by finding myself on parity with THE WORM again.

Tonight�s update is going to be rather short on thought and long on fast typing--as I am dealing with an overtired and influenza ridden kidlet. As a result, I am going to my bed with a book and soon-to-be curling up with my soft and cuddly current lover (affectionately known as pria-pillow.)

Wish me luck. DaBoy can be a stubborn little bastich (wonder where he got that?!?) about taking meds he doesn�t like�and the last major flu had me trying to bring down his temp with washcloths in the middle of his bathroom floor around a quarter past too-phucking-late-to-look-at-a-clock.

I had a false start on a book the other night. It looked so very good that I decided to clear through the other two that I was reading and dedicate myself to this book alone on completion.

This wonderful tome is by Christopher Moore (who by the way, is not in need of an ego boost�so please don�t forward this link to him.)

It is called, Lamb (The Gospel According To Biff, Christ�s Childhood Pal.)

And I got about as far as the little bit O� text I am about to transcribe, closed it�and read the other two apace--with intent to restart on this one as soon as humanly possible.

Here�s a snip that might whet your whistles (all rights reserved and yadda-yadda: Excerpt, Lamb. Copyright � 2002 Christopher Moore�printed by those lovely dweebs over at HarperCollins.)

�The Sin of Onan. Spilling the old seed on the ground. Cuffing the camel. Dusting the donkey. Flogging the Pharisee. Onanism, a sin that requires hundreds of hours to get right, or at least that�s what I told myself. God slew Onan for spilling his seed on the ground (Onan�s seed, not God�s. God�s seed turned out to be my best pal. Imagine the trouble you�d be in if you actually spilled God�s seed. Try explaining that). According to the Law, if you had any contact with �nocturnal emissions� (which are not what come out of your tailpipe at night�we didn�t have cars then), you had to purify yourself by baptism and you weren�t allowed to be around people until the next day.

Around the age of thirteen I spent a lot of time in and out of our mikveh, but I fudged on the solitary part of the penance. I mean, it�s not like THAT was going to help me with the problem.

Many a morning I was still dripping and shivering from the bath when I met Joshua [DaSauce note: Joshua Ben Jehovah or Jesus Christ. Note Ends.] to go to work.

�Spilled your seed upon the ground again?� he�d ask.

�Yep.�

�You�re unclean you know?�

�Yeah. I�m getting all wrinkly from purifying myself.�

�You could stop.�

�I tried. I think I�m being vexed by a demon.�

�I could try to heal you.�

�No way, Josh. I�m having enough trouble with the laying on of my own hands.�

�You don�t want me to cast out your demon?�

�I thought I�d try to exhaust him first.�

�I could tell the scribes and they would have you stoned.� (Always trying to be helpful, Josh was.)

�That would probably work, but it is written that �when the oil of the lamp is used up, the wanker shall light his own way to salvation.��

�That is not written.�

�It is to. In, uh, Isaiah.�

�Is not.�

[excerpt Lamb. Copyright � 2002 Christopher Moore, ends.]

See what I mean?

Biff and HeyZeus Christos are a gas�and it appears to fill in the missing 32 or so years. Buy it. I�m going to read it now. Leave me alone for a bit.

Thank you.

--DaStudiousSauceIsReadingScriptureSoGo�Way