I'm at home, a head full of snot-like-ooze.

While convalescing on my couch with Marty Roberts' podcast playing on Ziggy3, Ha'aretz on the laptop rending their garments in misery over poor innocent Hezbollah murderers and their supporters dying, and a pair of mugs on the table (orange juice/chicken soup)... a knock on the door.

Frisky freaks out, as he always does. Piper leaps from the arm of the couch and hides. (She's been doing this a lot, since the little furry psychic freaks out half a second before I sneeze) Nardo just sits there, looking stupid as usual.

I shrug, get up, and answer it.

It's Mormons, asking me if I've met Jesus Christ yet.

"Sure, I have," I said. "I killed him. But the hippie bastard came back. Wanna tell me where he is so I can try again?"

Then I shut the door. Gotta find the kitty treats to convince the cats that it's safe to lay around and do nothing out in the open again.

I just realized that I could have gotten one of their books to toss in the fireplace.

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