Yeah, this blog is like that.

I’m too old and not fiery enough to get ranty about shit on here, and when I try I fail because I just don’t mean it enough.  If I’m feeling passionate about something, I post a link on here and then get off my ass and go and do something about it.

Or I build some armour.  Or I write a song.  Or I sit and play guitar all morning in the backyard sun.

When I write, I write in a place that really isn’t read by anybody, and won’t be until it’s ready to all be tied together.

When I want to communicate something, anything, with the outside world, I use Facebook.  If I want to share pictures of my kids, I use my other site.

What do I do on here then?  I think I may have lost the plot a bit.

It just seems like too much work to try and get a piece of my writing polished and ready for public consumption.  Then, there’s always the subject matter.  When you’re anonymous and use codenames, you can write pretty candidly about just about anyone.  In today’s web, there IS NO ANONYMITY and it makes it harder to do this.

What’s all that mean?  It means that I can’t talk about how funny it is that your boobs turn red so easily Nic.  Because then you’ll read that and know that I’m talking about you.  Kind of ruins it.  Heh.

How’s life in general then?

Pretty good.  I work too much, but if I don’t then these weird pieces of paper I get in the mail keep coming and coming but turn redder and redder.  Crazy how that works.

My office has bare concrete floors because a lot of water messed them up and we haven’t fixed them.

My toddler bounces around in this office a lot and loves The Wiggles.  We watch a fair bit of kid’s shows around here.  We play a whole bunch too.

I play my guitars at least once a day.  I love it and I’m getting a lot better.  I can even write and perform an entire song all on my own.  Sometimes they kind of suck though.

I ride my bike, with the little trailer in the back for the Bug, around my shitty little suburb and I wave to my shirtless, tattooed, drunk-in-the-middle-of-the-day neighbours.  I actually love it here.  Home is where you make it.

My house is messy.  Kids and pets will do that unless you dedicate a fair bit of your day to cleaning up after them.  Answer this next question honestly: Who in the hell wants to do that?  Not me nor wife, I can tell you that.  We’d rather laugh and sing to music we like and make nice meals and talk about things in life that please us.  At the end of the day, that’s a far more useful lesson to pass on to my children, I believe.

I play swords.  Every weekend.  It’s actually at the point where I’ve accepted that I’m a carny, as in carnival folk, and what I do can pretty much be considered "theatre".  Oh dear.  Seeing it in writing makes me think that I’m not actually that accepting yet.  Especially considering the pain in my right hand I’m experiencing while typing that’s a result of a sword blow.  I still like to think about the fact that we smash the fuck out of each other with swords, pretend play-acting or not.  I think I’ve always been meant for theatre, and while there are many that know me that would nod their heads in an obvious way right now, I don’t think I actually knew this until recently.

My kid’s can make life difficult, but I love them and wouldn’t trade them.

Despite too much work, I love what I do and am going to actually change the world with what I am doing.  This excites me.

I miss some folks back in America, but not as much as I once did.  I miss some of them much more now than I once did.

My favourite radio station is the classical music station with the boring and stuffy sounding DJs.  Some of my favourite friends here in town are metalheads and blast music that makes my colon spastic, but I like it.

After almost 5 years of marriage, I still kiss my wife with passion at least once a day, I still look at her with genuine respect and appreciation once a day, and she still gives me wood at least once a day.

If nothing else, I enjoy dropping in and being completely candid on here, listing out sentences that need to be next to each other for a full picture yet in and of themselves they are all good indicators of my state of life and mind and happiness.

Now go find someone you love and tell them you love them for no reason other than it is a good thing to do.

My page.

If, by some small chance, I haven’t already bothered the shit out of you for this cause, then check ‘em out.

We took our middle child in for her first appointment along the road of getting her diagnosed with an Autism spectrum disorder.  Lots of fancy words and fancy degrees and hoops to jump through and a long and laborious process that you have to go through for someone in the outside world to finally look at you and realise how different the life you lead is to those with "normal" kids.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying its better or worse.  I detest people that crow about how proud they are of Corky for being the best shot-putter at the Special Olympics.  The simple truth is something no one ever really wants to say, in my experience, and I’d bet you a dollar that they’d prefer their lives to be easier and happier without a kid with Downs Syndrome.  That takes absolutely NOTHING away from what is.

And what is, IS.  Trust me on that.

But still, we’re all so goddam afraid that saying we’d prefer something be different means we’re unhappy with what we’ve got, or that we’re ungrateful, because everybody near us is quick to counter with "At least he’s healthy!  Would you rather him have Downs or horribly disfigured and bleeding from his eyes?!?"

Yeah, I get it.  I’ll say it again.  It’s okay to sit down at dinner and say "Y’know, it’d be great if we hadn’t run out of steak sauce, this would’ve been perfect with some steak sauce".  That is not an insult to the cook, it is merely an observation on something that would perfectly complete the picture.  Perfect.

And since we know nothing is perfect, we accept, without question, that this isn’t perfect.  That doesn’t mean the alternative is that it’s crap, and neither is my kid.

She’s different.  She doesn’t really know how to interact like the rest of us.  She doesn’t know how to love, she doesn’t know how to communicate her feelings and seems to genuinely act on absolutely nothing but her own self interests.  Think carefully now, if you had a classmate, housemate, co-worker or even an ex that acted like this, you’d probably tell stories about them and use them as the poster child for the category of "Asshole".

Now make that your child.  Love and care for, nurture and feed, sacrifice, Fucking SACRIFICE your own happiness for this person, and then see how you feel about them when they act as if they have absolutely no idea what you’re on about.  Worse would not be if it was thrown back in my face.  If she was openly unappreciative or openly disagreed with my love, if she hated me even, she’d be showing passion, and I could still respect that.

But, something my mom said in relation to her divorce from my father was, "I never wanted to hate him.  Hate is a very strong emotion, almost as strong as love, and I never wanted to feel hate.  In terms of retribution on someone you loved that hurt you, the goal isn’t to turn love into hate.  The goal is apathy.  The worst thing in the world you can do to someone who either loves or hates you is not care either way."

That’s my life with this child.  She says she loves.  She cries when I ask her if she’d rather live somewhere else.  She does her best to look and act human… but I’ve never felt it.  Not once have I ever felt loved from that child.  Her vague ambivalence and self-centered nature may simply be her personality, I’m prepared for this, and her disorder isn’t something that can go away with a pill or a few sessions with the lovely and jokey Dr. John.

I’ve said it to doctors and family members and mums at the school and her teachers and… ultimately, all I want to know is how to do better.  How can we all be happy.

I don’t fucking care about your degrees or your office or the red light/green light bullshit and I think you can take 1-2-3 Magic! and magically stuff it up your own ass.  I don’t fucking care about the dole bludgers who want extra money from the government because they’re kid’s an asshole and they want to at least cash in on the fact that their kid is hyperactive because they feed him shit food and ignore him.  I don’t care if you call it Asperger’s Syndrome or Bazooka Fuckknuckle.  I don’t even care if you charge me $300/hr.

I just want help.

And it looks like, for the first time, that we’re getting it.  This pleases me.

This entry wasn’t as "quick" as I’d hoped, but once you get to talking about some shit, it all just comes spilling out.

Thanks for listening.

http://cgi.ebay.com.au/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=290380235400#description

And read the questions too:

http://contact.ebay.com.au/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ShowAllQuestions&ShowASQAlways=1&frm=284&iid=290380235400&ssPageName=PageAskSellerQuestion_VI&redirect=0&requested=s700s (mine’s the one that starts with "I’ve already got a BBQ…")

The best part about this is not only is this guy an absolute legend, this thing is ridiculously cheap, but he’s right down the highway from us.

You better believe I’m bidding on that fucker.  If for no other reason than to meet this guy.  Simply awesome.

SPAM is still a dirty word, particularly when I have to virtually run a business via email, but with assorted blockers and fighters, filters and assassins, I’ve found myself almost missing the offers of a longer lasting thingo and almost any pharmaceuticals I could imagine.

So, when I got an email from "Sprotiv" I decided to save it for a rainy day.  When I got another one from "Colon Cleanse" a day or so later, I realised it was sprinkling a bit, so here you go.

From: Sprotiv
Subject: Everything for terrorism on www.sprotiv.org
Body: Drugs (cocaine, heroin), missile (made in Russia), C4 explosive, children`s organs, and much more!
Best child porno on the netSee Free Porno Pictures, Free Porn Videos, Hot Porno Movies in Daily Updated Porn Galleries. … Hot Virtual Sex Game! Get a realistic pussy today

When I first woke up in the morning and blearily squinted in disbelief at the small child insisting that I "wake up and cook me bottle na milk" I had no idea that my dream where I was a coked-out arms dealer specialising in blowing up really small kidneys could come true.  Especially the part where I was a sullen and skulking boyfriend of Pink.  No, that part wasn’t in the email from Sprotiv, but I just figured that tied in really well with "get a realistic pussy today" because of how Pink got her name.

Even though it’s days later, I’m still reeling over the idea that someone is attempting to sell me such a wide variety of items and honestly thinks that they’ll hook a sucker with offerings of small people’s body parts.  Is it a multi-pronged sales attack?  Is that what I’m missing here?

They’re thinking, "First we’ll get his attention with the terrorism thing, he’s a good American (even if he’s not) and will want to do his part.  Patriotism!  Protection!  Then drugs, because he’ll recognise cocaine and heroin and they’re an obvious next step, and we follow it up straightaway with missiles!  I mean c’mon… MISSILES.  C4 he’ll know because he saw Die Hard and will undoubtedly want in on some of that.  He may be intimidated by MISSILES, they’re just for cool points, the C4 is a win right there."

"Children’s organs?  Hmmm… Well we figured that, by now he’s mentally panting for some action and we needed to bring him back to reality.  Because in reality you can’t just blow up a building full of automatic-weapon-wielding German bank robbers, but you DO need to deal with the fact that little Billy is already 43rd on the waiting list for a new lung.  We figure he’s already hot to spend some cash, I mean c’mon… MISSILES, so we aim for his kids and make him feel guilty for being so selfish, especially with Christmas coming up."

"Best child porno?  Another reality slap.  See, we’ve hooked him for young William’s soft tissue, now we further drive home the point that he’s a real sonuvabitch by taking his excitement over MISSILES and health solutions and rolling them onto kiddie porn.  We’re wearing him out now, so to tenderise him a bit more, we smack him over the head with FREE PORN.  Those words have lost some shine in recent years, but he’s prime for it now and we intend to use it to the fullest extent.  Galleries!  Virtual Sex Games!  Holy shit man, after several reality checks right in a row, you’re painfully aware that it doesn’t fucking get better than this!"

"And that’s when we bring it all home baby… and we hand him the keys to the castle.  A realistic pussy.  It all comes full circle if you think about it… we’ve hit his testosterone fantasies, his inner Bruce Willis, his heart, his testes and now… now we go for the full on reality check.  We’re going to promise him relief almost instantly.  He CAN have a realistic pussy today.  The only thing his hand is reaching for faster than his junk is his credit card.  SCORE."

After that email, the one titled, "Clean your colon" was too much.  I couldn’t buy "Wold #1 super food" fast enough.

Think about it.  Not only am I fighting terrorism, getting really fucking high, blowing shit up from a distance AND up close and personal, saving my sick yardape, watching FREE PORN and feeling disgusted by it too, ALL of which while fucking a piece of plastic that gives way less attitude than my wife… but I get to clean my colon too?

Best.  Email.  Day.  Ever.

That’s right, I’ve found a way to be pretty fucking cool.

That was after several beers too, just keep that in mind.

Thus far, I’ve successfully played, from start to finish, where you can recognise them as an actual song:

• Opportunity – Pete Murray
• Iggle Piggle Song – Some Fuckwit
• Hazy Shade of Winter – Simon & Garfunkel
• Under the Bridge – Red Hot Chili Peppers
• Stand By Me – Ben E. King

Now I’m utilising Google for a lesson in frustration on "how to make a guitar make the surfer sound".  Finding nothing, hence the frustration.

So, the real reason I’m actually even posting this fine Sunday evening is because I wanted to brag that I played a whole song already (after roughly 6 weeks of geetar ownership) and tell you how fucking cool I am now (shoosh, repetition makes it more true), and to also make the exact phrase, "how to make a guitar make the surfer sound", show up in Google’s search results in a few days.

Oh, and to say that I like building things and dressing up like I’m somebody from history and fighting with swords.  Yeah, I know you probably knew that, but saying it out loud is part of the steps.

Smoochiebabies.

Go hug someone you love because deep inside they want to be a rock star because they think that would impress you.

There’s just so much to it that I could write about it all day, probably say some funny-ass things about it all and even mention his philanthropic ideals in addition to how insanely popular he is as “MC Assassin”, but I don’t need to do that. There’s both too much to it and not enough to it.

For now, I’ll simply start with this:

Fix the World.

He’s got ideas and they’re going places, and I’m helping where I can.

It was Thundercat Events, which proved to be letters arranged in a way that couldn’t actually handle the sheer awesomeness, so he rearranged them into Positive Action League Australia.

Strange how those three words say it best.

Fix the World.

Wish him luck.

Work is SO busy, in fact, that I’ve taken on some pro bono work.  Which, as I’m learning, is actually Latin for "work that’s way more fun than paid work".

I first met DJ Jazzy Schmoo through wife’s main forumy thing.  E-met, I should say, as she shared his thread where he was wanting to start up a website and change the world for like, orphans and nuns and kittens and shit.  I threw my hat in the ring with all the other yobs in the thread, all poking their paddies up and saying "We LOVE orphans, we’ll help!"  With such choices I could only assume that he’d hooked up with a hotshit web designer and was ready to hit the interwebs over the head with a Positive Action Hammer.

Turns out that he must not have had that many genuine enquiries, because he got right back to me and immediately started buttering me up with how funny my emails were and what a ninjapiratepimp I must be with all things webby.  He had me at the "ur funny" and I only ratcheted it up after that, especially when he started making up words using two or more awesome words.  "Robotninja" is his as is "ninjapimp", but his name is like "DJ Slayerkilldead" or some shit.

To this day I have a hard time believing that anybody that’s starting a foundation for orphans and kittens and climbs fkn Mt. Kilimanjaro for charity can actually make up new and awesome words in a way that out-awesomes me.  Oh, he’s a DJ or some shit too.  It gets better.

I end up at a party for some of wife’s e-quaintances and she proudly parades me out in front of some seedy dude in a beanie and says, "Here he is!"  Me and dude look at each other and there is decidedly little fanfare.  Struggling to make context as well as remember if I’ve met the fucker before, I play it cool, but he plays it cooler.

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right.  "Play it cool?" says you, "Judd, you couldn’t play it cool if you had ice blocks wedged in your rectum."  And to that I’d say, "Rectum? Nearly killed ‘im!"

By the end of the night, my nose is sore from having Rogers Draught repeatedly blown through it and I am frantically trying to program into my phone the complete recipe of "Chunk Norris Soup".  I’d list it here, but entering it into my phone turned out to be stupidly drunk of me, and didn’t work.  It’s something along the lines of:

Chunk Norris Soup

• 23 potatoes
• 1 slab of cheese
• 1 rack of lamb
• dash of salt
• 3 beers
• 1 ninja
• 15 shallots – grown from a garden fertilised by ground-up pirates
• 1 cup of awesome
• 4 thoughts of Chuck Norris

Directions: Make sure girlfriend is on her way home after long day of work and has just asked you what you had planned for dinner that you’d promised to make 2 days ago and had completely forgotten until 2.3 seconds ago.  Start drinkng beers.  Chop up everything and put in giant pot, making sure that ninja is actually dead and not just using the Whispering Phoenix of Deathslice on you.  Think about Chuck Norris.  Heat to boil.  Think about Chuck Norris again.  Reduce to a simmer, paying homage to a soup that roundhouse kicks other soups to death.  Finish beers.  Wipe mouth off on sleeve and think about Chuck Norris again.  Give lamb and ninja one last poke to ensure they’ve shed this mortal coil.  Think up an incredibly awesome name for soup.  Enjoy!

I even topped myself by repeatedly referring to him as "DJ" whateverwhatever and he’s actually "MC" whateversomethingcool.  When this was clarified to me by wife, I loudly and whitely asked, "He’s an EMCEE?!?  I thought he was a DEEJAY!  What the hell’s the difference between an EMCEE and a DEEJAY?!?"  Bless ‘im, he never felt the need to tell me how fucking stupid I am.

The man is amazing.  He invents soups.  Tough goddam soups.  I’VE never invented a goddam soup, and I invented one of the best "My Dick is SO Big" jokes.  Haven’t heard it?

My Dick is SO Big, that when I’m taking a piss, Chuck Norris leans over and says, "Hey… that’s a pretty big dick."

As this web project progresses, so does the inanity and hilarity of each passing email.  We’ve decided that conversations are only improved by add-ons, and every statement in said conversation is immediately improved with the add-on of "…in my pants."

Think about it.  Now read the following relatively ho-hum statements using this sure-fire treat:

• "Honey, can you mow the lawn?"
• "Gotta run, I’ve got an appointment with my accountant."
• "These pretzels are makin’ me thirsty!"
• "Did you remember to feed the cat?"

Fucking GOLD.  You’re welcome.  No seriously, you should be thanking me.  I just made the next 40 boring statements into something amusing for you.  Why 40?  Because you’ll forget after about 40 or so, and you’re life will return to shit.  I can’t do it ALL for you people!

So after I tried to out-testosterone him with emails questioning his manhood (yeah, I KNOW, what the hell was I thinking going after a guy who invented a tough goddam soup?) I tried to Gay Chicken him with subtle mentions of how much I LOVE the show "Farmer Wants a Wife".  And how I like it up the butt.  My subtleties were apparently lost on him, as I never got the desired effect short of laughter and raunchy and quite pointed status updates on his Facebook.

Then, my phone rings the other day with a downtown number I don’t recognise:

"Yallo, this is Judd!"

"Heya… you guys do website stuff right?"

"Well, I focus on Web Marketing, but yes.  Whatcha lookin’ for?"

"Well uh… I need some help with my search engine."

"Ooooookay, your search engine.  Right.  What’s your URL?"

"Um yeah… it’s www dot IN MY PANTS"

"Hey fucko!  I totally knew it was you!"

"Yeah right, and *I* consistently satisfy my girlfriend’s sexual needs!"

I’m paraphrasing, of course, because I don’t remember the conversation.  He did however offer that he’d call me on the weekend to discuss the web stuff in extreme detail.  He didn’t, because he was too hungover.  So he sent me this:

Yo,

The basic wishlist for Santajudd is this:
- Pretty lookin Website (I like blue)
- Members login for Webmail and Contributors
- PBB Forum (He means PHP BB)
- Photos
- Pages can have multiple articles
- Laser cannons
- Banner Ad up top to plug latest dumb bleeding heart crusades
- Ninjas with lightsabers
- Shop section with merch for fundraising projects/running costs
- About and Contact section
- Awesome jetpowered flying boat
- Website has ability to take over the world

Don’t forget to stamp your company all over the place too so people know who the awesome musketeer is that created the thing (musketeers are now more awesome than robots, pirates and ninjas. Actually, musketeer is the new pirate ninja robot.)

Words cannot express.  Actually they can, because when I said that he should start putting together some of his favourite design elements, he said, "No probs, I’m actually a bit of a whiz at Photoshop!"  When he mentioned that he’d lost the hi-res version of his logo, I suggested that he just run a "trace paths" and vectorise it, to which he responded, "okay, you know how I said I’m like a ‘whiz at Photoshop’?  Well, by ‘whiz’ what I mean is ‘only just learning really’ so pathing traces is some magic Terry Pratchett Wizard Joojoo or some shit, so speak fuckin’ slow okay?"

So, now that I’ve found that I’ve got free time to spend on charity organisations that ooze more humanitarian awesomeness from their logo than can be found in a soup kitchen’s exhaust fan grill, I’ve found that I actually like it.  And that, as long as I’m sitting around not getting paid to web, I may as well redesign this poor fucking forgotten blog and start writing funny shit again.

Smooches.

"First Day of Fall – Design by Eric Carle" it says.  Being that The Googs cleverly provides a link via the image directly to a search related to their wacky logo stylings, I click through to the search result.

"Something isn’t quite right here" thought I when I first saw the word "Fall" instead of "Autumn".  I soldiered on to each of the results pages and was astounded.

Every single Top 10 result is US-centric, or at least focused on the Northern Hemisphere.  Every.  Single.  One.

Which is fine, don’t get me wrong… if you’re in the Northern Hemisphere.

Now is when I get a bit pissy at The Googs and want to start thumping some heads.

For starters, here in Australia, they simply don’t call it "Fall", it’s "Autumn" and nothing else. Also, it’s the first day of March, not the 21st.

IT IS NOT SIMPLY AMERICA UPSIDE-DOWN YOU RIDICULOUS FUCKING TWATS.  Changing the wording for an image that’s obviously meant to symbolise Spring on the wrong fucking day tells roughly 25 million people that you don’t give a fuck about their actual culture.

I wouldn’t have said a thing if this were simply on their normal US-centric homepage, but to put it on the country-specific websites is inviting someone like me to call you "ridiculous fucking twats".

Wanna hear the kicker?  They at least got the naming right for the kiwis but still got the date wrong.

On the part of my passion for my adopted home, it may certainly be a case of "small man syndrome" of which I am well familiar having outgrown my 5′6" father by the age of 13, it is also definitely a case of "a pat on the head turned really insulting" by highly visible representatives of my atrociously arrogant former home.  Fuckheads.

Too bad my entire business depends on ‘em.  Flah.

Subject: How manny orgasm can man do

How many orgasm can man do? I had four orgasms in about 40 minutes! :)

This diversion gave her to compose herself before high platform, i was politely requested to ascertain faced about towards the singers, then did dorothy interest in this german war menace. I believe his followers shouted, a dooma doom! And prepared.

****************

Watch the way you talk about Manny Orgasm, he’s a friend of mine.  Your attempts at playfulness by use of smileys makes me mildly uncomfortable, but you really got me with talk of Dorothy and the way she used to interest Nazis, that’s some good shit.

4 in 40 minutes?!?  Sound like my honeymoon!  A Dooma Doom indeed.

Subject: Be a true hero in bed

Give your women kind of zest cause you are so pretty blessed.

****************

From what the firefighters tell me, "we’ve all got a little hero inside."  They didn’t tell me that apparently the rest of the sentence is "our pants".

Your rhymes are clever enough

for me to go and buy your stuff.

I’ll get myself out there and get "pretty blessed"

but first you must kiss my ass… est.

Damn, this is harder than it looks.  Curse you spammers and your rhyming talents!

Subject: prrolonged erection

Prolonged errection

Life itself. Virtue is everlasting pleasure and arjuna to fight for him. Beholding the host sinking if we had occupied it as enemies. I wish they his manners and conversation, in such a wellregulated of the miss killpatricks. ’so ireland is at the.

****************

I too, will honour St. Killatrick’s Day with a prrolonged erection and the memory of the mighty arjuna and their manners.

Subject: Augment your male tool.

You can solve all your man’s problems by only one purchase!

Buy the products you need for healthy everyday living cheaper than anywhere else..

Give her furnace some heat.

Sale is about to end.

****************

Sadly, I found this has nothing to do with that new crescent wrench I was looking at.  Now THAT would’ve solved all my problems with one purchase.

I tried stoking the ol’ furnace this morning, but you gotta open the little door and slide the flue if you’re going to add any heat.  Plus, if you split the kindling too big, you can’t get it to light despite how tightly you crumple up some newspaper underneath it and… crap, I think I totally just went literal in the middle of this metaphor…

Subject: Get humongous fang power

Solve your man’s problems with the help of our online company!

****************

I actually do want their online company to give me "humongous fang power".  I can’t imagine that being anything other than coolness of some extreme factor.

Subject: No woman cann’t help from from getting laid with you

IF YOU WANT TO FUCK SOMEBODY, FUCK YOURSELF & SAVE YOUR MONEY!

Some words about health!

It’s motto for losers! Are you loser? To my mind you’re not! I’ll give some advise how could get it on for a day or two:) If you can not do it physically, use some ataraxics. For example deleted or deleted…In my sexual practice it helped me not once… Do you feel such satisfaction by yourself? But i feel it every time i use such lexir as deleted or deleted! BE THE BEST IN BAD!!! ;)

****************

If it’s about saving money, I’ll fuck myself all day.  Mister, you are talkin’ my language.

Can you imagine being able to fuck yourself, save money AND be the best in bad?  GOLD.

Two words:  I’m sold.

Subject: Enter her twat like a bull

Become her master, he, whose rod can show her where heaven is.

****************

All jokes aside, this is the best email I’ve ever gotten in my entire life.

Adventure? Excitement?  A Jedi craves not these things.  He craves a rod that can show her where heaven is.

"It’s over there." *points rod*

That’s all for now.  This is seriously something I need to recover from.