Well, shee-it.  Today was ostensibly supposed to be an unbusy day, but it ended up being busy as hell.  Not pointlessly so…I got rather a lot done.  But not enough.  Never enough.  There are a couple of things I’ve been working on for you, but it’s been tough to block out enough time to finish either one.  Soon, I hope.
I may have decided to turn the writing shed into a tiki lounge, thematically, at least for the summer.  I got an absurd tiki god statue that’s eyes glow red to guard the door.  Next up will be a snazzy set of tiki cocktail mugs to accommodate the annual switch from winter’s Jack and Coke to summer’s Jungle Juice™.  It’s a secret recipe concocted by yrs. truly in a dream I had where I was doing cocaine with Colonel Sanders on the porch of his plantation and the two of us were arguing ferociously about it being impossible to come up with a better summer drink than southern sweet tea.   It was about to come to blows when an angel named Wazoo intervened.  “Behold!  I am an angel of the Lord Our God and my name is Wazoo!”  Which drew not the hoped-for awe from the small crowd that had gathered, but rather a series of malicious snickers, which seemed to really depress Wazoo.  Dispirited, he trudged over to me and whispered the recipe to something he called Jungle Juice™ in my ear.  Then he called the colonel a series of hateful names, gave him a wet willy, and vanished.  That was the dream.  It was weird as hell, dear reader.  But when I woke up, I rushed to the kitchen, gathered the ingredients, and made the first Jungle Juice™.  That shit is delicious.
And but so anyway, yes…writing shed tiki lounge.

N.P.: “Assume the Position” – Lafayette Gilchrist, The New Volcanoes