In my last blog, I mentioned that I’d tell you about the time I started beeping; so here goes – once I started beeping. THE END! This blog made possible by me scheduling a pump refill (see blog entry “Teh Pump” for more details on this process) on a Friday and forgetting to go to it – hey, lay off me, I’ve had brain surgery. What was I talking about? Oh yes, how to make Orange Julius – after you’ve harvested two ripe oranges from your orange grove (or gone to Albertson’s and purchased two “oranges” – can you really call them oranges when they’re not fresh from your grove?)…what an inconvenient joke, now I really want Orange Julius. Let’s get back on tra… ooh! A shiny hubcap!

 You see, my pump provides a steady stream of magic juice to my spine. Some law of physics posits that the magic juice supply in the pump should decrease as it is pumped into my spine (damn you, science!) When that supply gets too low, the pump starts to beepin. Mine sounds like the adult in a Peanut’s cartoon. Actually, as cool as that would be, it just makes a very monotonous, anticlimactic beep; the Peanut’s sound effects don’t come until I’m critically low. I joke again, it just makes the same uninspired beep sound more often. I didn’t reach this point, but the idea of running out of magic juice was still weighing heavily on my mind. Listen, Baclofen withdrawal is no bueno. Everything smells like a new car (except the inside of a new car, that will smell like John Malkovich (?)), you begin to sing everything like Barbra Streisand when you talk and you won’t be able to hold down any food but Corn Pops (“gotta have my Pops!) Actually, what really happens is nausea, vomiting and increased tremors (for those reading this that want to know what actually happens).

Teh daddy Jert: My daughter asked, “Daddy, do you want me to destroy you?” the other day. As she said this harps started playing and a light parted through the clouds and onto Quinn’s shoulders, it was a beautiful thing – I almost wanted to be destroyed.

Similarly, Q corrected my grammar about a month ago – ever since seeing “Dumb and Dumber”, I’ve said “we’re there” when we reach our destination. Upon reaching the IHOP, I uttered that phrase and Q said, “Don’t you mean ‘we’re here’?” At that moment, I looked toward the horizon and am pretty sure I saw a unicorn. Again, it was a beautiful thing.

It’s about time for me to wrap this one up, but not before telling you the exciting conclusion to the Emmy nominated “Message from the Library” saga. Aqui – — The exciting conclusion to the epic “Message from the Library” saga. Will the brave, debonair Wilson be able to collect all the media? Will the Cherry Bomb rain down upon the “pedagogues” with great vengeance and furious anger? Will the missing media cause a chronosynclastic infundibulum and cause the “pedagogues” to come unstuck in time? Will Mrs. *Redacted* ever stop causing so much trouble? Will the questions ever stop?

Message from the Library III: Return of the Media The Wilson looked at his spreadsheet, thought -THERE’S STILL MEDIA MISSING, WE WILL SURELY EXPERIENCE A CHRONOSYNCLASTIC INFUNDIBULUM! Suddenly, a student came to his desk and asked to check out books, the Wilson suspected that this was a ruse put on by Mrs. *Redacted* to distract him. He understood this and decided to play along. He looked at the student and said, “Welcome to the library, may I take your order? The student smiled and said, “I’d like to check these books out please.” The Wilson smiled, muttered, “I know what you’re up to! You were sent by Mrs. *Redacted* to distract me from getting all the media – she wants to come unstuck in time to cause more mischief across space and time!” By this time, the Wilson was yelling. Mrs. *Redacted*, sitting at a table in the library with Mrs. *Redacted*, muttered something in Spanish, they both looked at the Wilson, shook their heads and laughed. Just then Mrs. *Redacted* stood up and snapped her fingers and the library started to spin and shake.

OH NO! We’re unstuck on time! Thought the Wilson as he reached for something to steady himself. Mrs. *Redacted* and Mrs. *Redacted* continued to laugh derisively. The Wilson wondered where/when they’d end up. *CRASH* The library doors flew open, and a stately knight of yore strolled in. He looked at the Wilson, pointed towards him with his sword and said, “speak quickly, brigand! From whence dost thou hail?” Knowing better than to goad a man with a sword, in the best renaissance fair inflection he could muster, the Wilson replied, “You standeth in the the presence of Sir Jarrett, of clan Wilson, I have traveled oceans of time and space to be here!”

Upon hearing the name Wilson his face grew grim, said, “It is the prophecy! Tis said that the Wilson will arrive as from thin air and, at long last, bring order…”

The library started to shake and spin again; the Wilson wondered how this could be happening again so soon (I’ll tell you why, I didn’t like the way the story was going so I’m pulling a deus ex machina to change directions). Finally, the library stopped gyrating and the Wilson woke up. It was all a dream. All the media had been turned in, the Wilson smiled and got out of bed to prepare for the day. He walked outside to get into his car only to find a horse where his car should’ve been. THE END…. OR IS IT?

Have a good summer! Jarrett

PS As concerns media, I still have some stuff out. Apparently, some “pedagogues” like to show movies at the end of the year (not me, I had them eating out of my hand ’til the final bell :).) I’m not going to put the list up again, apparently it vexes a person to have his/her name on such a list. If you still have media, you know who you are. If you don’t, look at your badge – that should tell you who you are. Once you have your identity nailed down and would like to know if you have anything out, write an “electronic mail” message and send it to me, like so much FedEx. If it be the will of the Interweb gods, I will receive this piece of “electronic mail” and reply with an answer. Otherwise, please bring whatever media you have by Friday.

@JarrettLWilson