If we’re ever going to rid this house of a gargantuan furnace monster there cannot be any time for cowards. And no time spent planning and hemming and hawing. No energy wasted on assessments and projections.

Pick up a club and start beating the furnace until you go blind!

The noise and clammer will draw out the beast! Then set upon it with your teeth and your wrist muscles and tear it to shreds before it has time it straighten its tie.

THIS IS NO TIME FOR MERCY! THE BEAST MUST BE DESTROYED!

And if it hurts – if this fury starts to cause you pain – and you start to cry – THEN CRY! Your tears will burn through its skin and pierce its heart. They’ll remind this furnace monster whose house this is and that its true owners do not appreciate having their fruit smoothie mornings disrupted by mechanical belchings!

THEY SEEK PEACE AND COMFORT! NOT THE BACON ARMS OF A FURNACE MONSTER WITH TAR SKIN!

The gods will honor your courage. And many finger-paintings will depict your deeds to inspire those born without strong hearts.

AAAAHHHHUGGHHH!

Eventually your neighbor will find themselves in your living room, staring at what was once, to them, a cherished personal effect they were forced to part with due to “insistence from the bank.” Mounting or presenting it predominantly, with its own lighting, will only underscore the awkwardness.

It will be all the more difficult to pretend that part of their lives truly is dead if your purchase happens to be one or more framed family portraits.

I’ve been wanting to get that out, publicly, for the last three years.

Now that I have…

…It’s like the wrong end of a sugar high. I don’t even want to get the T-Shirts printed up.

Think I’m gonna spend the day down at the drug store trying out band aids. See if they can help me figure out those butterfly-knuckle deals.

I’m leaving my phone in the drawer, so don’t bother.

Eyelashes.

Which I thought I had removed by lasers last year but…

They grow back in little, ratty nubs.

Anyway, I need the stronger lashes to qualify for the Olympic diving trials. Always something.

Makes you question your decision to purchase three slip n slides and leave em in the box all summer.

It’s little questions that pile up in a fog. Your mind drifts from concerns about deflationary measures taken by the Fed to more immediate concerns. Where are my keys? Did I feed them to a giant pink frog last night? And if so, how did he escape my dreams?

Some questions have answers, though. How many loaves of bread will that local Spartan Store allow you to purchase before getting the sheriff involved? 87.

How many loaves of said bread will fit in your mouth in this kind of humidity? 86.

What becomes of that extra loaf? Using mustard to draw signs of the zodiac on each slice you will later claim was there when you bought it as a way of impressing your dinner guests? Impressing them that you know where to get the really good bread, the kind with all the pretty designs, and they don’t?

Or do you just humble yourself, find the receipt, and take the bread back to the Spartan Store and blame your buying frenzy on this horrible fog?

Family photos and important documents, mostly.

Got two microwaves going now. Oh yeah. One stacked atop the other. Got the second one online. Place out of Montreal. Real fine service.

Course, I’m taking my time now. One paper at a time. But come the holidays I’ll ramp it up and zap entire bags of receipts in one go.

AND HERE’S MY SECRET: Before leaving for work each day, I set up two identical alarm clocks. One in the top oven, the other, in the french model below. I set em both on defrost for 4 hours and leave.

Each day I gain about 30 seconds. Come autumn and the daylight switch, I’ll get an entire extra day.

Probably spend it working puzzles.

If you’re really sharp, you might even glimpse the screaming visage of various celebrity comedians on the TV screens themselves as they realize the horror of their descent. NASA had their spirits trapped in the actual TV sets.

It also had enough extension cord wire to ensure the sets would stay on through most of their fall.

But these future archeologists will make crucial mistakes in their analysis because they lack direct contact with the hair. Like scientists in our time guessing as to the texture and color of a dinosaur’s skin, our descendants will have only speculation as their guide.

Which is where I come in. As a service to the society of lizard men, I am leaving a record that clears up any and all misconception about our fine and noble senators’ hair. I cut photos from popular news magazines and laboriously fill out index cards with samples taped to them if available.

And, most importantly, I gather primary research directly in the field. Due to my unique position as a Man of Letters I have security clearance for the entire Capitol building and all adjacent legislative offices. I am allowed to basically come and go as I please, even during the most sensitive of deliberations.

I have made it my goal to calmly rest my open right hand atop the heads of all currently serving members of the senate and associated janitorial staff for no less than 3 uninterrupted minutes. I will softly sing Motown Hits to calm a given senator if necessary.

And on my death bed I will instruct attending physicians/magicians to amputate said right hand and preserve it for reference and entertainment purposes for all posterity.

It is from examining, shaking, interviewing and mittening my disembodied right hand that the lizard men scientists of tomorrow will know the truth about the hair of the greatest US Senators of today.

And what makes you so great?

I can’t help you. I don’t care about the package of feathers you received last week. You can spend your own time glueing them under your arms and taking photos of yourself in the mirror. I have old copies of the yellow pages to skim through and obscene last names to circle.

Your “clues” are meaningless. There is no big secret going on. This is a quiet town filled with quiet people many of whom have forgotten how to speak altogether. The most they can do is make sorta whale noises, and not even with their mouths! There is nothing suspicious about that! They shift their weight every couple hours.

Look—– I don’t want to be drawn into anything here. I’m not interested in where my water comes from as long as it doesn’t taste too strongly of clowns.

You’re not hearing me…

I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THIS SO-CALLED ORPHEUS PROJECT!

DAMNIT GET AWAY!

I love computers. I love to hug computers and tell them they are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I was thinking of giving the Nobel Prize to my computer for all the help it gave me on my assignments, and I just might still do that. I know a guy who’s brother works for them.

Thanks to computers – and no thanks to wild animals – I can work all day in just my sandals. No more heavy boots.