Do any of you remember that "Got your nose" game?

You know, that trick that maybe your dad or an uncle pulled where they would pinch your nose, then slide their thumb between their fingers so it looked like they pulled your nose off?

Well this isn't the same thing at all. At least I'm pretty sure it's not.

It seems like it certainly could be a way for a guy to avoid awkwardness the first time he spends the night with someone he's dating. "Babe, just so you know, it used to be much bigger. As soon as I pay the ransom to that dude with the gold ring who's holding it hostage, wow."

The comments of Kinshasa's poor chief of police, Jean-Dieudonne Oleko, are magnificent. I picture him as being something like east-central Africa's answer to Andy Taylor, patiently explaining to some rube that no, it's highly unlikely that a witch doctor stole his penis. Has he tried looking the last place he left it? He has, but now he thinks it's defective. Well, did he keep his receipt? Chief Oleko must be a man of enormous patience, based on this story he may have to become a sort of personal hero, at least until I forget about the penis-thieves of the Democratic Congo. Hmm. You know, I really think I might have an idea for the third X-Files movie, if Chris Carter is accepting story pitches. While the premise may seem a little outré, and presents difficulties insofar as it might mean we have to explain what a Bas-Congo witch doctor is doing in the States; on the other hand, those who felt the series slid in quality when Mulder and Scully's relationship progressed beyond friendship would definitely find... certain elements... erm... removed from X-Files 3--The Truth Has Company. I want to believe, indeed. Mulderrrr!

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I'm tired, and got to the interwebs late, and I sort of want to play a videogame before bed instead of trying to beat my brain sluggish with a more serious blog entry. I'm not sure why I feel obligated to mention this. Are not the penis-thieves a sufficient subject? Perhaps too sufficient--you do realize I could have gone with the Hardy Boys riff instead of the X-Files riff, right? One need look no farther than Wikipedia to realize that titles like The Tower Treasure and The Clue Of The Hissing Serpent are rife with possibility. But I almost misspelled "too" just over a sentence ago, and that's a sign.

My brain has hurt much of the day. Part of this was lack of sleep last night, but I suspect my allergies are coming into play. Happily, I no longer seem to go through as much swelling and stuffiness as I used to, and aside from one bad trip to the zoo when I was a kid, I'm lucky to say that I've never been incapacitated by allergies--but I do get a bit more achy and short of breath this time of year, which I fully blame on my immune system overcompensating for all the plant sperm billowing around this time of year. (Yes, that's flower spooge all over your car in the morning. Good luck getting that image out of your head.)

I don't really want to complain. I have friends who have it really bad right now, and I'm sure a few of you have it worse. But feeling a little punky is still feeling punky. Hence this blog entry, which I may wind up regretting. Sometimes my Dad calls to tell me how he liked something I wrote here or made a good point about something-or-other; sorry, Dad. Didn't mean to let you down this time. Blame the weather, or at least what was in the air.