I need to cover myself with things, prettier things. I went to the place where the pretty things were but none of the things were pretty; they were stupid things.

The other animals won’t accept you into the pack if you don’t have pretty things on you. And if the pack doesn’t accept you, then you have to hunt by yourself and that’s hard. If the pack likes you and decides that you’re better than some of the other animals in the pack then you can eat better parts of the things you kill together. That’s science.

Fortunately, I know a magic spell. If I know the size and shape and color of the pretty things I need, I can go into my house and get my special little magic light-up book and wiggle my fingers in precise combinations. If I do that for long enough and in the right way, then if I can choose from any of the pretty things anywhere and soon they will come to me. To me! This mammal is gratified.

I’m in a Starbucks. I’m getting ready for work tomorrow because it’s actually kind of fun. I’m in three cases right now, and I gave myself the homework of making solutions for all of them, pretty solutions with fun things in them that will make the other mammals go “Wooo!” One or two of the cases may end up defining my position at the new company. It’s a complicated and tenuous situation, but I might end up doing quite well for myself. Assuming I cover myself with sufficiently pretty things, have sufficiently good ideas, and work a lot of overtime.

One of the cases is unworkable for the time being, so I’m taking the time allotted for that and using it to tell you a brief, weird story:

“I told the cashier I wanted a zhongbei meishi, and she keyed it in, took my little colored pictures of Mao (one orange and one purple), and turned to yell ‘Grande Americano!‘ over her shoulder.”

See, wasn’t that kind of a weird story? Come to think of it, I AM a reasonably grande Americano. I was the punchline all along, and I missed it.

Now I will turn my thoughts to golf.

88!

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