Ok, it's time to come clean.

I've been cheating on you.

It's not that I don't love you. Really, it's not. And what we have is special. It's just that...well, I need more. More than you can give me.

I've been writing for another website. A topical comedy website.

Here.

It's not you. It's me.

Let's be frank.

I've been doing far too much Not-Writing and not nearly enough Writing lately.

I think we can all agree on that factual thing. No objections and all in favor say aye and the resolution is passed. The problem has been defined in splendidly clear terms.

It's the solution that gets a little sticky.

Because, you see, Not-Writing can be LOTS of fun. Not-Writing sometimes involves eating cookies or drinking wine or daydreaming-about-castles-made-entirely-out-of-bagels.

Whereas Writing is more likely to involve things like typing and erasing and sitting-in-an-ouchy-chair.

So you can see why Not-Writing has been a sorely tempting occupation of late.

But there is good news.

The good news about Writing is that it just might possibly lead to something very exciting:

Having-Written

And Having-Written is much nicer than Having-Eaten-Cookies or Having-Drank-Wine.

So thusly I shall commit to come back to writing this very day.

If only for the joy of Having-Written.

And there. I have.

O.J. Simpson has written a new book about the murders of Nicole Brown and Ron Goldman called, "If I Did It."

His next goal is to write sequels entitled, "If Basketball Players Were Tall" and, "If Water Was Wet."

Ok.

I might regret this and take this post down tomorrow.

But here it is.

Somebody put my comedy set up on the internet.

So if you want to see it....you can.

It's here.

Two things:

1) There are a couple of naughty words, so don't play this in front of children or people you want to respect you in the morning.

2) In my defense, the two girls I yell at were being REALLY annoying through all the sets before mine.

3) That's all.

For his new Secretary of Defense, President Bush has chosen Robert M. Gates, a man who also acted as CIA director for Bush’s father.

Having now inherited both a Presidency and a Secretary of Defense from his father, Bush is making it increasingly clear why he pushed that bill through Congress lowering the inheritance tax.

I hired a personal trainer.

That's someone who has the job of training me....well, personally.

When you train dogs, all they're really expected to do is not pee on the couch. Trained seals must learn to balance balls on their noses. I expected that my experience of being personally trained would be something similar. I am, after all, quite an expert at not peeing on the couch and my ball-nose positioning is second to none.

"I shall be the star of personal training," I surmised.

Here's the thing, though, about being trained personally:

It hurts.

Oh it hurts like the Dickens, friends. Yes, if Charles Dickens were alive today and writing a book, it would probably be called, "Personal Training Hurts Like Me."

Today, my session-of-training-personally focused on exercises to “strengthen muscles in the upper body.” This is all well and good, except (and I don’t want to brag,) I don’t have any muscles in my upper body.

Really. Not a one.

So telling me to "strengthen muscles in my upper body" is a bit like telling a child he needs to "work on his unicorn-riding skills." It's a fun idea and all, but in a practical sense, there's no benefit.

I did try to be a good sport about the whole thing, though. I mean, if she thinks my imaginary-upper-body-muscles are real and can only be coaxed out by the raising and lowering of desperately heavy objects, who am I to burst her bubble?

So I raised things. I lowered things. I raised and lowered things. Lowered and raised. Things. Lowered. Raised.

Sigh.....

Yeah, it's amazing how muscles that don't even exist can cause so much pain.

I think I know how the unicorn feels.

If I ever had twins, I'd probably just pick a favorite and then refer to the other one as "the understudy."

"It's ok, honey. If for any reason Jenny cannot perform her duties as my favorite child, then I'll love you instead."

It's possible I shouldn't have kids.

Nevada’s governor’s race took a scandalous turn this week when a cocktail waitress accused candidate Jim Gibbons, of trying to sexually assault her in a parking garage in Las Vegas.

Gibbons responded immediately by announcing he was gay, abused as a child and an alcoholic. When that didn’t work, he accused the waitress of harboring weapons of mass destruction.