As for the situation with our Billy Perry election signs, it cleared itself, but not satisfactorily. I bought 50 feet of rope and tied our sign to the tree in the front yard. I tied about 15 knots, superglued the knots, and made sure that you would have to cut the rope in no less than three places to get the sign. I felt pretty confident and proud to make such a statement of solidarity. Well, of course within two days we discovered the frayed ends of the rope laying on the ground and the sign taken. Ah but the mystery hadn't finished unfurling yet. The next day as we were surveying the tree for a place to hang another sign by chain our boa-constrictor-owning-neighbor came out to chat it up. Well, guess what. She knows who's been taking the signs. Our landlord has been sneaking around under cover of night cutting rope and taking our signs. The last time the sign was taken we were at home and he could have easily stopped in to say "Don't display political yard signs" (as he would later tell us). No, he chose to be a the 50 year old redneck ninja about it. When we finally talked to him about it (days later when we came to his business) he said that the tied down sign was not, in fact, tied down at all but rather hanging from the tree in a noose. His insinuation is really, really scary, and completely inaccurate. I think if we were some jackasses trying to make some evil rascist joke we would actually bother climbing the tree to hang it rather than tying the rope around the base of the tree in a completely un-noose-like fashion.Well, the whole situation stinks, just like the raw sewage still in our yard. Oh by the way, that's not our landlord's fault either. It's the city's. That's why we're the only ones on the block with the poop in the grass. Who knew.

Right now my roomate is laying on my bed playing Gameboy and asking me questions about a game I played when I was 11. Emile is in the living room making no noise whatsoever. It's a little creepy. Tiffany is writing a term paper. And despite the incesant noise of our tummies growling at the tops of their lungs (tummy's have lungs!) we just sit here, dazed, not seeking food. This is my Saturday night.