I found another note taped to my mirror:
Dear Daddy,
I have noticed (mostly from watching you) that when one lacks both intention and intuition, one cultivates a habit to replace them. I reject Habit, and her sister, the Schedule. Punctuality is the death of spontaneous gazpacho parties, unplanned interactions with police horses, and running back to make sure the stove is off. Habit requires you to keep buying the same damn gum everyday, ignorant of the many cutting-edge flavors that have exploded onto the scene. (It is with affection that the doormen and I refer to you as Bubba Ho Hum.)
I do, however, appreciate the habit you have of giving me my allowance each week. So cough up.
P
ps have you seen my granola recipe?
I found a rotten egg under Panacea’s bed this week, and some coffee all spilled over this recipe:
You will need:
1 (one) egg from a black hen
a needle
semen
virgin parchment
1: poke a tiny hole through the shell of the egg
2: replace a bean-sized portion of the white with semen
3: seal the opening with virgin parchment
4: bury the egg in warm dirt on the first day of the March lunar cycle.
Keep the egg warm at all costs. Check for small cracks each day, as there is no consensus on the gestation period of the miniature humanoid.






