Okay, things are getting desperate.

I considered making it myself, though I don’t think any store within 50 miles would supply mascarpone. “Hey, duddint Jeff Gordon drive onea those? Nyuk nyuk.”

For a mere fifty dollars I can have one delivered from New York City. (All together now: New York City?!)

Even burnt popcorn, food of the gods, didn’t help. I’m going into a decline.

Which reminds me of a poem, a poem with a pun!

The whole poem isn’t worth posting. It is, in fact, sucktastic. But the pun was a good ‘un.

excerpt from Babel

I still thumb the leaves
with some odd hope I’ll decipher
what he wrote. Or someday Catullus
will come cackling through my brain
reminding me how to decline age.

Maybe the next time I’ll offer 10 dollars to the person who can write a poem around that pun.

Which reminds me. Have you written your julain today?