Did ya miss me? Aw. But I missed you. No, really.

So I worked a weighty percentage of buttage off last week, which isn't a bad thing, and then blasted outta here to Chattanooga for the weekend. I pondered many things along the way, none of them monumental. Like:

"Why did everybody become allergic to peanuts in the past few years?"

"What does a praying mantis eat?"

"Are the hormones in milk and chicken really responsible for the recent explosion of D-sized pre-teen boobs?"

"If so, then what are the hormonal side effects for pre-teen boys?"

"Since I am addicted to it now, why is nasal spray addictive?"

"Why isn't there a Vespa shop in Chattanooga named 'Scooternooga'?"

Not like I specialize in monumental topics, but there you go. That's what we all missed. Not much.

But if you ever wonder what my minor misfirings are sometimes, besides me thinking it's hilarious to watch home videos of people falling down or seeing bridal veils burst into flames again and again, here is a link that my mother just forwarded to me. Now, after she saw Ron fall backwards out of a rotted rope swing, my mom finally admitted to me that she liked to watch people fall down, too. But I didn't know she fancied impaling. But like twisted sisters, it's comforting to know that we share the forbidden love of excruiating pain. Ah, life is good. Enjoy Mr. Otto's Olympics here or here.