I got a desk full of papers that mean nothing at all

Office Dwelling Subcreatures and others -- I give you your Friday getaway song:



I have a new goal in life -- just once, in concert, I'd like to show off my rhythm egg skills on this song with the Fountains of Wayne folk. No harmonies will be attempted, just some shake 'n' bake. Trust me, I've got the wrist action down.

Can you arrange that, My Love? You know what a poor helpless "man" I am, and you are an all-powerful being I was never worthy of procreating with based on my continued inability to provide our happy home with anything other than a dishwasher in which all items are sequenced in proper spatial relationship by size, shape and material.

At least, that's what Murphy implied the other night during "South Park" reruns. See, what you miss when you "executive goddess" too much for the Healthy Snack Conglomerate and need to sack out with the kids by 9 p.m.? Your assistant really needs to enter these meetings of the Uncool Domesticated Workers and Animals Committee into your Outlook Calendar.

Oh, yeah. He also wants a bigger max on his Visa (your area) and only Aquafina in his bowl (mine).

Excuse me now, I've got overpriced shrubs from Designs By Lee to plant and mulch to spread. The manure, obviously, has already been put down.

Cheers!