Good Morrow, Friends.

Wow, long time no blog, right? Terribly unfathomably dreadfully sorry. I've been as busy and Erik and Nadir are nattering about Pop Tarts again and Erika and Ely want health insurance and Max is writing PotO parodies and Ben is being Ben and they removed the Diet Coke from the vending machine at school so Max is having a hernia and (Deep breath.) it's making life so very complicated. Okay, I hope you commiserate. On to the good stuff.

Allow me inform you all. Diego is standing and reading over my shoulder so I'm afraid he may feel the need to assert his bawdy and absurd comments at various points in the blog.

Diego: You're such a confusing and random person! Anyone who reads this blog is going to think you're totally high. Hey, Darth Vader's sitting next to me!

Kat: Quit playing with the pencil sharpener. And I follow Erik's example on everything but the opium, hashish, and morphine. Dear me, this makes Erik look a bit bad.

I hate ERBs. For all thou fools, they're the Educational Record's Bureau tests. Not to mention brilliant excercises in just how amazingly pointless academics can be. They have been referred to, in a decent pun, as the "true bitter ERBs of Passover," and so they are. Or they were, last year, when they were taken during Passover. As I have so oft remarked, the bubble method of test taking is really quite silly, as people always tell you, "Please fill in the bubble fully. Do not make a check mark or other sort of mark. Fill in the bubble. Fully. With a pencil. Use a 2B pencil. Or we'll Punjab you. Do not bring any flammable materials into the testing room. And do not eat the test. And do not dye it purple. And do not bash it furiously with your fists. And do not attempt to take it to Mt. Doom and throw it into the fires of hell." And so on. As Ben put it, "If you can't figure out how to fill in the bubble, you're probably not going to do well on a test."

Wow, I've ranted far too much about this.

Anyway. Far more to the point. Diego, quit. reading over my shoulder. It's really quite annoying. See, you're doing it again. Oy. Prying Pandora. Hey, the insult fits. Strange, as I'm usually hopelessly random when I do that and people look at me oddly. More oddly than usual. Oddlier? Oddier? Odder? Help me out here, people.

Diego: Odder is an animal.

Erik: Do you mean oTTer?

Diego: No.

Kat: Ay. Erika, where's the Punjab?

Erika: Funny you should mention that. . .

Ely: Now, I did not use it for frivolous purposes. I used to to obtain Pop Tarts -

Diego: A purpose is an animal!

Erik: Do you mean a porpoise?

Diego: No.

Ely: And I figured Pop Tart obtaining was a noble cause, so I Punjabbed the Pop Tart delivery person.

Kat: Who was it?

Ely: It was Elvis.

Diego: My brother!

Luke: He does so look like you.

Kat: They do not look alike. Diego looks like John Lennon, if anyone. He does not look like Elvis. I repeat, he does not look like Elvis. Or Micheal Crawford.

Ely: Oh, that reminds me, the Pop Tarts salesman was Micheal Crawford. . .

Kat: (Appears violent.)

(This has been cut short, due to the fact that the violence was simply too graphic, and it involved burnt Toaster Strudel.)

Now, I need to apologize to you all, but especially Ben and his mother. See, I owe you guys a lot of muffins. Diego, you're taking this the wrong way. Stop it. No, I said stop it.

Diego: Hey, since Kat has seized a moment when I'm not looking over her shoulder to write this, I'd like to assert that she apologizes for the high amount of Diego content in this blog. It couldn't be helped.

Nadir: And the question of the day is - does Diego look like John Lennon, or Elvis?

Kat: Why do you want to know?

Nadir: To be honest, I'm not sure. As your collective common sense -

Kat: Your job's taken. You're no longer our collective common sense. Now our common sense is Ben and Max.

Diego: God help you.

Ben and Max: As your collective common sense, we demand you finish the blog now. It's getting a bit long, and you have to leave in two minutes.

All right, that's enough for one day. More when your friendly neighborhood J.G. gets home. Or when she finds the time, or when Nadir quits dashing about taking over Luke's job and asking about Pop Tarts, or. . .

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.