Of Love, Skulls, and the Coming Apocalypse...

Here I am, back from my traditional Valentine's Day celebrations (I make a papier mache cupid and beat him to a pulp with his own arrows. SUCH fun! I've borne a grudge against the little guy since that time I fell for the Nazi, looooooooong story. Let's just say, I thought he was Hells Angels. I get my skull insignia mixed up. So SUE me.)

I have no water here this morning. It's become of a kind of running theme this winter (except it's not running). I suspect it has something to do with the way a large chunk of the sidewalk in front of my house collapsed two weeks ago. (I would have mentioned this earlier, but I wasn't actually standing on it when it collapsed, so it slipped my mind.)

Or perhaps it's just ANOTHER sign of the coming Apocalypse. Like these (supplied by my waiting-for-the rapture friends) weren't enough:

1. Our [or THEIR as the case might be -- ed] vice president shooting his friend.

2. One of Saddam Hussein's co-defendants wearing underwear in court for two days in a row.

3. Dominik Hasek's goalie equipment getting 'lost' on the way to the Olympics

4. The discovery of bird flu in a swan in Naples.

5. Matt Dillon's bid to replace Kofi Annan as head of the U.N.

(The Matt Dillon one is a joke, sadly. Were it true, it would be a sign that something is actually RIGHT in this world and the powers that be have recognized the need for a CUTE UN Secretary General. And please, don't start writing me to tell me who you think would make a cuter UN Secretary General than Matt Dillon because, children, NO ONE IS CUTER THAN MATT DILLON.)