So it dawned, The Day Before Christmas. I was having a long, confused dream which evaporated instantly when my cell phone's alarm began to ring. Aggh. Diane Sawyer is on vacation? I used to think she was nice, but now I see her and it's like there's a void-skinned demon balled up in her cranium, looking out through her nostrils and using its fingers to swivel her eyes. How on Earth can she ask people the things that she does?

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Dear Big G., if you're bored enough to be reading this Blog: I'm trying to help myself. Can I please get some matching funds?