Okay, it's almost Craptacular time. I am considering the list for my post-holiday cleanup sale on eBay, and believe me, I have enough to last a lazy person like me several months. The last thing I need is MORE CRAP.

In fact, living in a very small rural town, Mojo must make occasional dump runs--although technically our dump is no longer a dump but a "transfer station", and everything gets dumped into variously labeled Dumpsters to be driven away and either recycled or dumped--oh, sorry, I mean "transferred"--elsewhere, like where poorer people live. Or whatever happens to it; Mojo has no say in the matter. (Once when I worked in a Very Old Library at a Very Old College, they spent a year or so removing asbestos from the building, and they had a staff meeting with an asbestos expert to allay staff fears (the actual removal process, it turns out, involved a lot of plastic sheeting and duct tape, which did NOTHING to ally Mojo's vague fears, since she was looking for something a little more high-tech), and one of the things one of Mojo's trouble-making librarian friends brought up was, "Where does the asbestos go after you remove it?" To which the asbestos expert hemmed and hawed and tried very hard to sugar-coat what they do with it. Which, rumor had it, was to truck it all down south and let some poverty-stricken Appalachian community deal with it. You'd think they'd be asked this often enough to have a good strong super-casual response to it instead of this decidedly awkward exchange (and maybe now they do), but back then Mister Asbestos Expert clearly did NOT want to talk about it.)  MORE Mojo! »

...That was before I came home to do a trash run (yes I can hear your envious gasps from here) to find that the Wood Guy called and he's delivering five cords of firewood sometime today. I won't be home, but out here in the sticks when you know each other (and especially know WHERE YOU LIVE, and many people own GUNS) he just comes and randomly dumps a thousand bucks' worth of firewood in the driveway and assumes we're good for it. And we are--we'll stop by his house sometime next week with the cash.  MORE Mojo! »

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Friend, are you as aware of squirrels as you should be? Have you fallen onto the Dark Path of a Squirrel-less Existence? Well, it's not too late. You too can learn to skitter and chatter around the park like a moron, picking up dropped food and bits of trash. It's easier than you might think, although some people still have trouble swallowing the stuff without gagging.

And what better time to start your new Squirrelful Life than RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW, during National Squirrel Awareness Week? Our operators are standing by to take your pledge to become More Aware of Squirrels. We won't be happy until we hear you say, "Dang, there's one of those little bastards now! Shoo! SHOO!!!"

Open your heart to squirrels. I'm begging you. Before it's too late.

Mojo

Just yesterday a friend noted that she has been having the worst luck this past week, with machinery breaking down and massive screwups screwing up.

Mojo did not want to hear this, for it is looking more and more like we will be getting a new car, courtesy of her Mafia connections--there! Doesn't THAT sound more interesting than the truth?--and Mojo must keep the news from her current car, aka the DeathTrap.

Why, you ask with that tired sigh and the rolling eyes. (Yes, don't try to hide it. I saw you!)  MORE Mojo! »