My mind is a dreamscape the likes of which you cannot comprehend.

Grains of salt. Wadded napkins. A scent of slivered fried potatoes in the air. This former site of dining, this leatherette monument to food-based fellowship remains desolate. But clearly someone dined here.

It’s August, and that means Defenestration!

You see this little guy? He’s popped up in the header this month as well. Just trying some new things to spice up the place a little bit. Remember the building we had up there the past several years? Eileen always hated it, so she told me to change it or she’d make my life miserable.

There’s a fish on my desk and it’s weirding me out. It’s just sitting there. Where did this thing come from? How could it have possibly gotten on my desk? The damn thing isn’t even cooked! It’s not baked, or sautéed, or pan fried, or pan broiled, or grilled, or poached, or deep fried, or prepared in any way that would be beneficial to me. It’s just raw, and not in a creative or delicious way, like sushi. Raw!

It started when Walt’s wife, Eve, left him. After she moved out, there was nobody around to push it back under the desk. Walt had never understood the importance of pushing it back under the desk. While Eve did so religiously, one of its first thoughts was that she had probably not understood the importance of that, either. All she wanted was a tidy room and to stop falling over it. Even though Walt rarely sat in it, he had an inexplicable tendency to leave it out of its place. Another one of its first thoughts was how much it would miss tripping Eve.