You could smell the merriness in the air back at my house. Housemate John and that youthful Mike who works at the Bakery both had their guitars out (I've never seen John with a guitar before) and we were acting loveably goofy. Elizabeth is taking a video editing class and was just then about to interview John on camera about how he almost became a preacher while growing up in humble Saltville, Virginia (an asperation of everyone there with an IQ greater than 40, as I pointed out). But procratination ruled; Elizabeth started cooking herself some dinner and Ches was being ridiculous with the guitar, treating it like a rifle and shooting hapless John. We boys thought that it would be a good idea to make a videotape of John's dreams of becoming a preacher being dashed in a hail of gruesome simulated gunfire (exploding ketchup packs on his chest and all, Sylvester-Stallone-movie-style), with the gun being a simple acoustic guitar.
I took a bath and did some editing of a sheet Comet will use to tell customers how to install their Internet-access software.