No longer able to fight the compulsion.

Just minding my own business in the office today. Until people started gushing about That Day. Actually, This Day.

Time to celebrate the old-fashioned way. I need a ticket to Chicago, a tommy-gun, and a bunch of mobsters. We could organize it like a quail hunt; I promise not to go all Dick Cheney on my friends.

This blog post paid for by the National Association for the Advancement of Bitter Singletons, LL.C.

For them as wondered

It's number 35.

Cripes, but I feel old.