In Sickness And In...No, Just Sickness

Oh, it is SO not happening today. We're still sick, and our home is still jammed with contractors trying to outdo one another in the making outrageous noises competition.

At this very moment, our head is pounding and we actually feel faint - making it a less than perfect time to really savor the ongoing duet by a circular saw and nail gun. And what's better for a queasy tummy and rattling phlegm-filled lungs than a fresh round of toxic paint fumes?

On top of everything else, we had to take time off from wishing for a speedy death to deal with the fact that a coffin-sized box which has been getting moved all over our house for the last 6 weeks turned out to contain the wrong friggin' bathtub. 

We'll be back ASAP. Until then, carry on!

Lawn Order

One of the happiest political stories of the past week involved 11-year old Frank Giaccio, who wrote to President Trump asking if he could mow the White House lawn to promote his self-created business and was awarded the job.

"That's the real future of the country right there," beamed Mr. Trump as he pointed at the young entrepreneur. "Maybe he'll be President someday!"

When questioned whether he'd also asked Hillary Clinton if he could mow her grass, young Frank replied "No, but I did offer to shovel her snow."

"But there is no snow," said Hillary.

"Lady," laughed Frank, "there'll be snow in Hell before you're in the White House!"

(Editorial note: we may have made up the part about Hillary)

CONSTANT COFFIN...

We're a little light on substance at Stilton's Place today (despite plenty of things going on) owing to being impressively, disgustingly ill. Mrs Jarlsberg got the ball rolling with sore throat, sneezes and coughs, and we hoped beyond hope for 24 hours that it would prove to be just allergies (have we mentioned our home is really dusty lately? We have? Never mind).

But nooOOooo, a happy little invading army of germs has swept through the Jarlsberg home and taken no prisoners. Even our freaking teeth hurt, and it's getting increasingly hard to find walls which aren't freshly painted upon which to cough blood-flecked phlegm.

We'll be right as rain soon, but in the meanwhile you may want to wash your hands if you actually touched your keyboard while reading this. Better safe than sorry.

Yoga Bared

During an interview pushing her bitter, brain-damaged memoir "What Happened," (soon to be followed by the sequel "Where Am I?") Hillary Clinton was asked about her practice of yoga.

Surprisingly, she was able to recall some details despite having erased some 33,000 "personal" emails on the subject (along with other "personal" email like details of her mother's funeral, Chelsea's wedding, family recipes, multiple refusals of additional security to Ambassador Stevens in Benghazi and, of course, her highly personal sale of America's uranium reserves to Russia).

Part of her yoga routine consists of "alternate nostril breathing," which involves closing one nostril with a finger and then breathing deeply through the other. This is then repeated until she reaches an oxygen-deprived state in which she can temporarily forget that she is officially The Biggest Loser In History.

The alternate nostril technique does not, however, work for her husband Bill - who famously does not inhale, but is no stranger to blowing.

SPEAKING OF ALTERNATES

The cartoon above wasn't our first version, but we considered it the funniest version. Still, the joke may be a bit vague for those who have clean minds or who have mercifully forgotten Huma Abedin. For you, we present the alternate version of the cartoon, which you should read while holding one of your nostrils shut.

"Code name: Chardonnay."

AND FINALLY...