I, Spambot

What a fine film is "I, Robot", starring the handsomely sculpted buttocks of Will Smith, the guy from "Babe", and a very busy green screen. I must watch it on the local station tonight so I will keep this brief. Where are the tissues?

Of late there has been a real comment upswing at this site. This would be gratifying except the text of the comments usually started "a href"... and ended "her pleasure guaranteed!" After much soul searching (because I really yearn for incoming mail of nearly any sort) I added word verification to the comment process. Of course, it is not "word" verification. It's "strangely organized string of letters" verification or "Klingon language" verification, in which case maybe there are words involved but if so I cannot verify that is the case because I do not have the "real language-fake fucking language" dictionary in my compendious collection of dictionaries. In any event now you (yes you) will have to undergo the rigours of typing the wiggly letters into the rectangle and if there are any Klingon word vers. please let me know so I can enhance my fake language vocabulary for the next convention of the unfortunates hits town.

Right now it feels like the kids have gone to bed early. Thank you Mr. Bush. I don't know how long they'll stay under - it sounds like Mo is beating steel plates with a 5-pound sledge hammer in our room. It's a good thing she does not read my posts or I'd pay for that. All I can say on this semi-annual one-hour mental exercise is the absence of daylight savings time is the solitary reason I would move to Fort Qu'appelle or Weyburn. That, or Will Smith.

PMO