What is it, 1897?

Ladies and Gentlemen,

As some of you may have noticed, and some of you (especially if you do not know me at all) haven't even considered, this year I have been (as they say on a sinking olde-timey Mississippi River Boat that's been attacked by rabid Nutria) . . .

shit outta luck.

For realzies.

My misfortune began a little before 2006, so I'm not blaming the actual calendar year for this.

This stroke of ill fate began the day I began my permanent day job.

That's right. I'm going to blame it on the palace of employment. I knew all the free food, free gym, and Madonna tickets were too good to be true.

It may appear that I am being paid for my administrative services here, but in reality, it is I who am paying the price -- the price of pain in exchange for luxury.

It's your fault, steady income, for my kidney stone and the scar on my forehead among other things, and for this morning, when there was no hot water in my building, so I boiled two huge pots of water in order to clean myself in the shower. . . .

I may be emancipating myself in the very near future.