Neanderpundit

Woke up in a cold sweat this morning after having dreampt I was the Skipper on Gilligans Island, moping around about my inability to safely pilot a boat around the florida coast.

Tam and Bobbi X were Ginger and MaryAnne. Shooting Buddy was the professor. Turk Turon and Brigid were Mr and Mrs Howell. And Caleb was Gilligan.

For some reason the island was overrun by armadillos, and I was catching them and killing them, while the professor used the hides to make concertinas. Mr Howell was figuring a way to market them as soon as we got off the island.

Finally, in the end, I redeemed myself as Skipper by asking the film crew to give us a lift back to the mainland. Just as we get to the shore we beach the boat on the bloated remains of L Ron Hubbard, who I just discovered was indeed buried at sea. Though I thought it was just ashes.

Work has been nuts. I’m working on a project that is… well, frankly, impossible. So it’ll probably take me till next week to get it finished. Shamefuly, the first round of inspection is tomorrow, so I’ll be pulling late nights for the next several days.

House, senate. One term each. No perks, no pension. Graft conviction carries the death penalty.