OK, rodents, I already posted this to my super secret personal internet homepage, but I think it bears repeating for a wider audience.

Mr. H told me a funny story the other night. I treated him to “Wackity-Schmackity Doo” because that’s been stuck in my head for days, thanks to Lambchop, and he told me about this guy at work that says “bee-booo” if you ask him how his day is going, but there is a poor result on that particular day.

“Bee-booo” harks back to a time the guy left his Roomba running, and he and his wife went out for the night and came home to find the Roomba, marooned in the corner, jammed with cat shit, yes, after tracking it all over the house, just mournfully moaning “bee-booo, bee-booo.” Sad Roomba beats sad Keanu! So we all have it better than a Roomba, I hope.

Bee-booo.

Do we, George, do we? Do we have it better than a Roomba? Times are tight all over. Lambchop and I are literally scrivening our fingers to the bone like regular Bartlebys. We couldn’t even afford to go see BEDBUGS, the musical!

What’s that, you say, you saw us out brunching last week? We have been known to enjoy a spot of brunch. And besides, that was the V-2 summit. Those summits are always catered! Where else did you see us? Were you hiding behind a mailbox or popping out of a trash can? We wouldn’t put it past you.

Now I have to go Photoshop sad Keanu onto Morrissey’s back. THANKS ALOT.