I love my new yoga mat so much.

I still feel energetic, although at a more socially acceptable level. I was a bit talkative yesterday. When the cat got me up at 4 this morning, I was, four, okay, cool, an hour more to fuck off.

And I’m really looking forward to the effects doodads Santa is bringing me, although I sort of dread a little bit the look on Alpha’s face when I stick the oyster mic on the saw and run it through the one with all the buttons.

Maybe I’ll wait until her next business trip to do that, in fact.

New goal: clean out my workshop so I have a place to put all this junk.

And lose weight.

And memorize some new jokes, as long as I’m at it.

Budget energy costs about one-third as much as regular energy. It is a little flatter, making you burp fewer pink-tasting burps.

It is much more subtle than regular energy. You barely notice it, in fact.

It lacks glamour, as you can already see from the can. No race car drivers are going to have anything to do with budget energy.

This has something to do, I suppose, with budget energy’s departure from the usual “color+animal” naming tradition.

Maybe all the good ones were taken.

“Golden Bat” would be nice, but that’s already a nasty brand of cigarettes in Japan.

Yellow Ferret.

I can imagine the naming meeting.

Budget energy is less for the disco – unless it is a budget disco – than for more philosophical pursuits, such as poisoning slugs.

Budget energy is definitely going to be in the next slug study.