Fire away.
Where did I leave my garlic press? Marvin? Marvin ! Jesus. What kind of a dung hole is this, anyway? Oh yeah ... that kind of a dung hole. The abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill kind. A place where garlic presses go to die, apparently. This is the third one I've lost this month. And I used to have a blender, seems like, though our electrical service is a bit spotty anyway, so it hardly matters that that thing disappeared. Somebody around this mill has sticky fingers. I'm looking at you , mansized tuber! Oh, right. No fingers. Still ... those roots seem a little grabby. Where am I going with all of this? Not sure. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) is helping me today with my weekly chore of straightening out the kitchen. Don't know if any of you have ever lived with a rock band, but let me tell you - no one wrecks a kitchen more completely than wayward musicians, down on their luck. Open cans of kipper snacks strewn about like poker chips. Half-eaten bowls of cereal. Do I...