Din and ought in Beverly's Hills

The Irish are a great people. Take my friend Beverly O'top O'themorning. Bright, pretty, healthy, well endowed, with a bubbly, outgoing personality that helps her compete successfully with the ruthless salesmen at Mercedes of Pacoima, which is just around the corner from Our Lady of Arleta Cathedral and house of wax.

She called yesterday morning, asking for help. No one can say no to Beverly, mostly because she can't say no, either. (You realize this is all a daydream, right? No actual sperm were injured during the filming of this daydream...) So there I was, driving down to her townhouse, in morning rush hour traffic. I don't think any of you have ever talked about your commutes. My normal commute is exactly one mile, from the house to the office. Occasionally I'll walk. Okay, once I walked, but then called my wife to come get me at lunch.

I don't mind rush hour traffic, probably because it's such a rare "treat" for me, and I pass the time studying the drivers around me. Very seldom do I see a truly happy driver, other than when I'm checking my hair in the mirror.

Anyway, when I got to Beverly's, the hills were alive with the sound of music. She'd gotten one of those iPod bras, where you plug the iPod into it's connection and music comes out the cups. The larger the cups, the fuller the base. My wisdom teeth were even resonating, such was the power of her bass appeal.

The problem she'd called me over to address had to do with painting. I took care of the problem while she did her yoga. I think she was always naturally limber. I was back at the office by 2:00 p.m. I went home earlier than usual, and because we're 'empty-nesters' now, I worked out some issues left over from the morning commute with my wife.

So in November of 2008, remember to vote for happiness, not revenge.

Thank you.