22 March 2006


Look, I’m not pulling an El Barbudo or anything. I’ve just been dealing with lawyers and accountants for the last few weeks and have had little time to write.

Which is a damn shame, as I am clearly a brilliant writer on the level of Faulkner, Hemmingway, or that fellow that does the Penthouse Letters.

In any event, I’ve been working on an explanatory piece covering my formative collegiate decades. It details how one might contract, through no fault of their own, nor male-to-male contact, a case of crabs, ambulatory freckles, or “French lice” as they were known in the vernacular of the day (today they might be known as “Freedom lice”) whilst on a bicycle trip with two (male) college chums.

Yes, I am aware that was a run on sentence. But it made you re-read the paragraph, whetting your appetite about the posts to come. Besides, aren’t you at least slightly curious about how the wheel of sheep’s-milk gorgonzola fits in to this?

I thought so.

And that's the way I likes it.