You know how when you were a kid and your Mom would go away for the weekend for some reason, your Dad would totally be all on top of shit for like all of Friday night, and you’d get your bath on time and he’d pretend to make you eat your vegetables and you’d pretend to eat them, like usual, and then maybe he’d let you stay up a LEETLE later than usual, just to watch The Gong Show, but then it was straight to bed, and it was all very parental and business as usual, but then by Saturday afternoon something had happened and it’s like 1pm and you’re both wearing your jammies still and you’re all like, “Daddy, can I have cake for lunch?” and he’s like, “SURE! Bring it in here, and I can finish teaching you poker! Make sure to bring a piece for the dog!” and it’s really fun, but by 5:30pm on Sunday, you both sort of have a stomach ache and somehow the dog got lost FOUR TIMES over the weekend and there’s a very strange smell in the living room but neither of you knows where it’s coming from and then your mom gets home and you’re both very very relieved to see her, because that means order will once again be restored, and  you kind of forgot how pretty she is and how good she smells — like soap! And maybe a little bit like coffee — and thank God, thank God she’s back?

Well, kids, that’s gonna be the situation around here for a little while, because someone somehow found the time — in the middle of our very busy schedule of eating peanut butter with a spoon, watching Melrose Place on SOAPNet, doing our real jobs, making fun of people’s outfits, and working on that fort we’re making out of Diet Coke cans — to go and get herself married.  So until she gets back from her honeymoon, it’s just you guys and me, and that chocolate cake.  I’m going to try my damnest not to stink the place up on my own, but I’m not making any promises.

However, I am going to kick off my Temporary Solo Reign of Terror by appointing myself an intern. I call him George:


Be nice to us.