What will they find next? Goldbricking beavers, just playing in the mud. “Stop swimming on your back like that, you look like an otter! All you need is an abalone!” the other beavers will say. Or, in the beehive, “Hive-Unit 10043303 you have failed to meet your projected nectar quota three weeks in a row!”

Scientists have discovered the slacker ant. I quote, in full, an article found in the Sunday 16 November 2003 issue of the Japan Times (without permission, I apologize in advance to the Kyodo news service and will of course remove the article if they so desire, just let me know guys):

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The cello-Led Zeppelin connection.

No time, must run to a conference or something.
32K to go. May make it, if the diet doesn’t kill me first.

As Beta said, “are you sure it’s a good idea for both of you to go on the diet and both get cranky at the same time?”

As Beta’s friend said, “didn’t they swear they’d never do that diet again?”

But seriously, this is the absolutely last time. Supermodels can afford to do this, they don’t need brains, they have personal assistants to think for them.

There they are again, in that timeless space they inhabit, grazing in the field as if they owned the place. As if they were the alpha predators and not the hunter who built the blind beneath which they stand.

But we can’t write about deer can we. Must not write about deer, my precious. Mustn’t drive away our readers with stories about cats, dieting, cello frustration or wacky kids.

Or, wait, you don’t actually come here to read about that do you? I mean, I could probably write about something else for a change. Like, I was at a men’s clothing shop once in downtown Vienna and saw some famous guy shopping there. No idea who he was, but he had that rich and successful aura they have, and some babe half his age with a huge rack and a silk blouse open down to her navel was helping him pick out ties. I looked at them, they looked at me. No idea what they saw but I felt like a piece of cheese at a fondue contest.

You know, essential to the success of the over all scheme, but still just a small piece of cheese.

Do any of you have any idea what a marvelous feeling of triumph and satisfaction it is to finally crack the Jacques Offenbach cello duet you’ve been working on for weeks and weeks and just feel that music flow out of those F-holes? If you do, send me a mail because I sure as hell don’t, although I sense I’m getting closer. I’m sure it’s a grand feeling.

The monitor started doing the Blink-blink. Blink. Blinkblinkblink-thing again so he switched it off and took a break. Things were going smoothly. Too smoothly – it was making him nervous. He decided to up the ante. Brushing red cat hairs from his black sweater and black jeans, he walked downstairs.
“Honey, I…”
“You’re not scattering red cat hairs throughout the house, are you?”
“No, I…”
“Because I had the cleaning lady here today.”
“No, I just wanted…”
“You know they’re delivering the new harp in a few minutes. And you remember how clean their house was when we were there.”
“Yes, yes. No problem. I just wanted to suggest we go on that diet again.”
“What, the one that made us both dizzy and forgetful?”
“Yes, I even had cheekbones there for a few days, before the pendulum swang back.”

So we’re doing some movie star diet this week, is what it boils down to. Only two and a half days and I’m already cranky and crazy. On the plus side, I’ll feel better about myself when we go to the spa next weekend and frolic in the luxurious healing waters and pig out at the buffet.

On the really, really big plus side, Beta now has a beautiful new concert harp. Woet.

Only 50k to go.