
As you read this, you're probably preparing the ol' gastrointestinal tract for a heavy intake of poultry and stuffing. Perhaps you're gearing up for some
football, or hoping that the fox terriers
finally take it at
Westminster this year. I'm doing what every good American should do ... and getting the hell out of the country. I don't want to tell you where I am, for fear that "Woodies", as my fans are called (or should be called), will track me down and ruin my vacation wanting autographs and pictures of me kissing their babies' heads. Let's just say this place is warm and sunny and rhymes with "Bajorca". This island is so small that their currency is based on sea stars and gypsum and I don't have the necessary diving equipment to scrape together enough money to pay for their internet. (Which, by the way, looks like it's based on AOL v2.5).
Fear not dear readers, I'm still here to delight and amuse with my ramblings. These just happen to be ramblings of times past. So I encourage you to revisit some of my old articles until I return next week.