The Journal of Ephemeral Inspiration will be dark until Thursday night. We're embarking on our twice-a-year sojourn into the wild to gather feral comedy. The raw humor is cinched-up, Curious George-like in a burlap sack and shipped to our ozone-perforating refinery, where we grind it to a pulp, add our patented brand of bitterness and sarcasm, pack it into pellet form, then release it to our hungry readermonkeys. We got a real deal on the factory when Soylent Green was yanked off the market.
So hang in there, it'll only be a few days. You can do that on your head. In fact, why don't you do it on your head?
Insania Fragilis, Fectum Dubitabilis!