Bore-er Beyond Imagination

G'Mornin!

Welcome to the freshest update of "Saturday" the book you're likely to read this week.

If you recall, we've worked our way back to page six.  "Wait," I hear you say in my head where there are often voices, "I thought you were on page, like, 31."  This is true.  I am working on page 31 right now.  But you read faster than I can draw, so I'm biding your time until I can finish the final pages and post more current stuff.

So, last week there was an attempted peace accord drafted by Fred.  Let's just say that, at this point in the peace process, negotiations are ongoing:

Elsewhere in the house, India's normally reliable imagination has failed to clock in for work, forcing her to find a pastime of a different suit:

India's imagination is probably her best friend.  The weirdo kids rarely have actual best friends.  Pause for sad reflection.  Anyhoo, with her imagination AWOL, India's bored stiff.

When I was a kid, boredom was my mortal enemy.  It was tireless and persistent, and it was all I could do to keep it at bay.  Now that I'm an adult, I see boredom as a luxury.  See, when I was a kid, the only capital I had was time.  But I was freaking LOADED with time.  I was the Scrooge McDuck of time.  I had a vault full of it.  I could swim in all the time I had.  Which meant I could waste it by being bored.  I used to set an entire day on fire and then use that burning day to light my cigar.

Now, in terms of time (and most other respects), I'm a hobo.  Sitting on the sidewalk next to my bindle with those boots where the toe is open and you can see my socks, lamenting my hubris and singing "Once I built a railroad".

Today is Sunday.  I hope you have a fortune in time.  Enough to burn, even.

Cheers.