Medulla O-blog-ota!

I am so jaded with football, on the whole, that you could make earrings out of my feelings. My feelings for football. Jade earrings. Because I'm so jaded. I come from Western Pennsylvania, and so when I was born, I had this tiny chip (no larger than a fly's eyes says I!) implanted into the back of my head, which, as the Superbowl draws ever closer, begins stimulating my reptilian hindbrain, turning me into a kind of walking man-ape. Except this year. Tom Brady and the Patriots are good players, and even better when you factor in their bold-faced cheating. Meanwhile, the humble Steelers are left behind and forgotten in favor of announcers screaming BRETT FAAAVVRRRE at the top of their lungs. And so, my tiny mind-control chip is just stimulating so much jade(d) tissue. Jade.

So whatever, Football. Call me again when you're cool. Oh wait, that might be a while.

It's very late right now.

I had a headache today. It was something of a production. Whenever I get these aches of the head, they are always sort of pulsing around the same central section, which I theorize is that little bridgey thingy between the two halves of my head. They also only occur when I eat too much salt, so having soup for breakfast, lunch, and dinner was perhaps unwise.

Anyway, I was going to type up a story about someone who was on the internet (as the kids call it these days) and able to communicate with the dead (except they were going to be bad spellers, and I was going to present it in the form of an IM conversation, just like how I sometimes post chat transcripts that are the only interesting thing to read on this website BUT I DIGRESS) when I realized just how little embellishment a story like that needs. How many of us have people on our instant messenger lists that we don't know, who we never talk to? How often do you cruise the Away messages of your perennially absent friends? So I mean, hey, why aren't they ghosts! Or something. This made sense hours ago, when my head was trying to separate itself into halves. Now all I'm thinking about is how much my grandparents would probably hate SomethingAwful.

Before I go, remember tableau? Of course not! But some people pretend to, and arranged themselves into reproductions of college poster-maker Gustav H. Klimt. And they're pretty good, because I believe that Klimt understood that all it really takes for me to approve of anything is pretty ladies and gold and maybe a scarf. Or a blanket. All tossed together in a basket. It's like a salad made of my favorite things!

Regardless, Haunting Tales Spooktacular continues tomorrow. Maybe we can even trick James into posting!