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Monday, July 28

Ogod, Ogod, we had our first quarrel.

It all began innocently enough on the phone:
"Hiii Hunneee, how ya' doin'? Hee-Haw."
"Hii to you Hunnee, how you doin'? Hee-Haw."
"Whuchadoin' Sweetie?"
"Nuthin much Goo-goo-pie, bloggin' around, trying to figure out who's the most hideous major candidate running for president."
"Well gosh, that's easy; McChancre is the worst."
"Eeeeyyy, wait a minute; I think Oblivion is really grotesque!"
That's the way it began and soon heated words were exchanged and the situation was on the verge of a screaming, shouting match when a voice that seemed to emanate from the phone and the stratosphere both thundered loudly, "SILENCE, MORTALS!" Awed, we awaited. The voice (which sounded suspiciously like The Dark Wraith) continued, "Now, it is obvious to me that your spiritual devotion to each other notwithstanding, your ignorance of the pecuniary pecadilloes of all the candidates is standing in your path to true wedded bliss. Hence, heed these words well."

There followed a lecture featured by its monotonicity; but in its way it was a soothing as well as enervating verbal dissertation of the financial flat-footedness which can be found not only in the present candidates but those of years past as well. And, here's the the strange thing: as the voice continued, we could feel our passions begin to rise; I could tell from the gasps and sharp intakes of breath from my betrothed on the other end of the connection that she as well as I was becoming rapidly aroused by the language coming from the voice. On and on it went, using phrases like "liquidity flow," "reversal of position," "transfer of assets, "straddle" (where I almost lost it), "fiduciary fecundity," and interspersed throughout, a repetitive use of "yield"--indeed, my betrothed gave a small squeal at the mention of "long- and short-term yield inversions."
Our host, sensing perhaps that he had found more-than-willing students, began to hasten to a conclusion; our gasps, grunts, groans, and tiny moans must have alerted him that his audience was about to pass on to an even greater knowledge than even he could impart. And like a true master of the craft he provided us with the catalyst: "Go now," he ordered, "and carry forth the message that EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THE CANDIDATES IS A DUMBER FUCKING BOX OF ROCKS THAN THE OTHER!"

That's all it took. Accompanied by a titanic clap of thunder which seemed to echo down through the corridors of human history, my beloved and I were catapaulted headlong into a whirling, phantasmagoric maelstrom of colors, sounds and sensations which merged. separated, and plunged our souls through the densities, octaves, and infinite cycles of existence.

Much later, I found myself laying drenched with sweat on the basement floor, the phone beside me, and a tentative voice repeating, "Petey? Petey?"
"Yes Honey?"
"Ooohh Petey! Who was that guy?"
"I'm not really sure, but I'm gonna try and find him and hire him for Liz's Blogblastaramathon this weekend."
"Byyyeee, Petey."
"Byyyeee, Sweeetiee."

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