sweeping

this is a "thanks, sponsors!" and "the rest of you have until midnight, eastern standard time" post.

first:



they are, in no particular order, erik, joe (no, not that one), julie, katie, and tasha. thank you, thank you, thank you.

next, as i mentioned, the sponsor button (the cash goes to heifer international, as you will recall) is still fresh until 12 est tuesday night. look, here it is, now:



(this is cross-posted to my regular journal).



FIN.

last entry! it's been fun, you've all been great, especially the sponsors. but now, the goats and i are going to bed.

of course, the entire blog will remain active at 07allnighter indefinitely, and the sponsor button will work for 48 hours, so you can still contribute to heifer int'l. feel free to continue to leave comments. i'll get them on the other side.

try the veal, be nice to your server, click the button. stefficus out.

then there were two

...and this is one of them.

i now have the lollipop song in my head, thanks to - uh, some blogger someplace. someone who was blogging for MS... the gnat-off-my-sandwich blog, maybe? it doesn't matter, it's now stuck in me brain and it won't comes out. when i was 9 or 10, i fell from the top of a swingset (never you mind what i was doing up there to begin with) and was knocked out for a few minutes. during these few minutes, a giant lollipop followed me. i remember it very clearly. it wasn't yellow (or orange), but purple, and it had no face. still, i'm sure this song did it to me. (ok, the concussion is what did it, but that's not the point i'm making. trying to make. whatever.)

so, i'm going to go for a brief walk in the lovely morning mistiness, and hope i can skate the fine line between exorcising the song and not waking myself up too much.

and for those of you just arriving - good morning, and now's your chance to sponsor my blog for the fine people and livestock over at heifer international. just click the shiny round button.

top o' the mornin' to ya!

one hour and counting down.

next year: eye drops. (i have some, but they're problematic. no, i don't want to get into it.) at least i'm not hallucinating giant, reflective ninjas on the side of the road. when that happens, i finally admit i need to pull over and let someone else drive, and there's nobody else to drive this train.

closing in

only 90 minutes left to go!

fortunately, if you're reading this sometime sunday or monday, i understand you can still sponsor me (remember, i'm doing this for heifer international, because giving goats to people amuses me) for 48 hours after the official last entry.

huh? HUH??

i thought so.

well, poo

i can't seem to post to che's blog anymore. it thinks i'm spam. is verra sad.

i'm getting a second wind now, i think. i never really lost it, wakefulnesswise, but... *glances back over the dog story* ...eeeeehhhhh. i think my mental capacity was lacking for a while, there.

next year, i think i may want to be a monitor. "monitor" puts me in mind of lizards, which i quite like and think are rather cute. "monitee" is... well, a big, blubbery sea creature whose distant cousin has lost his buckit. that's just unflattering.

a shower might do me good. i don't think i'll have one, though. i don't know what i want. eye drops, maybe?

sponsorship?

oh, look

it's 5.30 central time. i know, THIS time, let's remember to use the goat icon!

hey, that's a great idea!

i'm here, and i'm still playing the marble game. what more do you want?

sculder

The Caper, part II

"I just want my pipe. Is that too much to ask? Can't smoke during the day, got to go roaming the halls and rescuing pups at night. I just want my pipe. And something to gnaw at. Is that too much?" Roland grumbled constantly as they made their way to what was loftily called The Parlour, but which was really just a largish room that happened to have an old, defunct fireplace in it and which the family who lived there couldn't afford to properly furnish.

They came to the door, and Mort started to round the corner into the room. Roland quickly shouldered him back. "Are you mad? We can't just barge in." Mort thought this was highly irregular, coming from Roland, but he was a far better poker player than Rollie. He managed to hide his incredulity.

"Of course not, sir. Do you have a plan?"

"Yes. I'll go first." The bulldog threw his massive shoulder into the door and heaved it open, growling menacingly if somewhat asthmatically. "Stand down," he yelped, "or I'll..."

He broke off uncertainly. No mirror flashed light into his tired old eyes. No Picasso menaced the small, mismatched pack knotted around the hearth.

An awkward silence descended.

At last, Scruffy sprang forward. "Surprise, Uncle Rollie! Happy dog's day!"

"I'm not your uncle," Roland responded out of habit (although the truth was, nobody had the faintest idea what the lineage of the aptly-named terrier mix might be). Before he could get a good growl going - he only managed a wheezing intake of breath - the pack parted so he could see what they'd been hiding.

Lying on the hearth, folded and stacked neatly, was a small pile of dog-sized items. The bulldog circled them, sniffing noisily with his squished-up nose. There was a lush, brocade jacket, a pair of soft (oh soft, oh happy, oh his paws!) slippers and, crowning the heap, a tiny wooden pipe.

"The woman helped. She folded and... stuff," Scruffy admitted.

"But we added the pipe after she'd gone, old chap." A debonair greyhound winked at him.

"Atta boy, Alberto." Rollie had to turn away as he said it, sniffing. Everyone just thought he was wheezing again. Mort helped him into the jacket and he clenched the pipe in his teeth.

"Now. Anyone for cards?" A deck was produced from somewhere, and the pack settled in a circle.

"You mutts go ahead. I'm going to sit here and smoke."

sculder

The Caper, part I

At half past, Roland curled up under the table. Everyone was late, if they were even coming at all, and he was tired of wearing the shoes. He'd lost all his kibble last week anyway due to a nose twitch that absolutely was not his tell, but which had spurred so many calls and folds he'd been driven out of the game anyway.

The door creaked. He opened one eye and peered out through the legs of a chair. It was Mort, nosing the door open.

"Rollie? You okay?"

"Whuf," Roland offered. "I didn't think anyone was coming."

"We wondered where YOU were. Did you forget about the caper?"

Roland stood straight up, banging his head on the table support. He lurched out into the room. "The caper!" he exclaimed. "I forgot all about it! How did it go? Is... wait a minute." He peered around suspiciously. "Where's the pack?"

"That's the thing, Roll..."

"Mort! What happened?"

Mort sighed and looked mournful as only a bassett hound can. "They're all stuck. You know that weird thing over the fireplace? It has everyone cornered. There's something to do with the mirror, and... and I came to get you," he finished feebly.

"Well, let's go then." The old bulldog fixed his most intimidating scowl on his brow and puffed out his chest.

"Shoes or no shoes?"

He considered. "No shoes. Won't do to wake up the whole household, will it?"

They stole into the hall, Roland wheezing gently.

"this is my serious look*

ok. chips and salsa prepared and eaten, cream soda attendant, marbles guessed, haiku read, mail checked... i think i'm ready.

i do better with title than with subject matter or plot suggestions, but sb gave me something and, by dog, i'm gonna run with it. within an hour or so, i'll have a story for him.

hey, he's a sponsor. it's the least i can do.