Some neighborhood wag has begun sticking little flags featuring George W. Bush’s face into piles of dog poop, which seems so astonishingly appropriate that further commentary escapes me.

Also, do you think the construction guy I yelled at yesterday while I was walking Goblin took the time to notice my flawlessly moisturized skin? No, he did not.

Also, I think all of the brown and drooping plants inside and outside of my house are conspiring to screw up my feng shui, which I absolutely don’t appreciate. But how can I retaliate? I keep getting a flash of those bizarre zombies in Creepshow (or is it Creepshow 2?), who mutter, “You can’t kill us. We’re already dead.”