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Manpuuku Temple

Mouse tempura is the best.


Cutey Coon

An attempt to escape the confines of my mind and taste what has not been tasted.

October 9th, 2007

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Cutey Coon
So I had a 3 day weekend because some fella named Columbus, a Spaniard masquerading as an Italian discovered the Dominican Republic. I made some plans. Finishing the playhouse for my son was primary on my list. I did not do this. Next was a bit a writing I wanted to get done. I did not do this. After that getting back into my exercise routine very important as I have gained a bunch of weight! I did not do this. Instead I spent oodles of time with my brilliant Paladin and my passionate Princess Truck. Love and I got to really have a ton of fun exploring different environments and sampling forbidden fruit.

I played Final Fantasy XII for a long time. I almost maybe understand it now. I watched the end of Desert Punk and the beginning of Berserk. Fun, sad, really well done.

Mostly I got to actually have a conversation with my son. Paladin and I have been ships passing in the night. He says goodbye to me in the morning and I kiss his unconscious forehead in the night. This weekend we actually talked! We talked about Cluckatrices, and Naruto, and sang songs about monkey pie. We played alone and talked about school.

That is it for now.

September 25th, 2007

 Wandered a bit this past weekend.

I took the family over the hills and dales of Maryland and happened upon a a glorious little thorpe called Revel Grove.   Once upon a time I was a dapper constable at this little hamlet.  I kissed beautiful ladies' hands and explained to them how stupid and blind the world was for not being able to perceive their beauty.  I had a saying that I still live by, "There is no thing finer in this world than the smile of a lady."

Now I love food.  I love sex, and theater, and roleplaying, and video games, and enjoying my family and friends.  But my heart is never lighter than when I can get a lady to smile.  

It really used to bother me when a beautiful woman would cry when I complimented her.  One woman gave me a hug and said, " I haven't been complimented in 20 years."

I don't flatter.  Flattery implies ulterior motive.  Reynard flatters Chanticleer to get the cheese.  Raccoons work hard not to seen as foxes because the art of transformation makes us seem untrustworthy.  We may be unreliable due to extreme laziness, but we are loyal to a fault, kind, generous and always truthful.

A few days ago a lady with a bee refused to smile and accused me of falsehood.  This saddens me.  I hope that someday she will understand that Mr. Raccoon's goal is to make you smile, not to steal your cheese.

Here is a link:  http://community.livejournal.com/brokeassgourmet/2770.html

September 14th, 2007

So I been sleeping.

Cutey Coon
Still a bit groggy really.  Instead of eating and mating this summer, I decided  to sleep.  

I had some great dreams though.  I dreamt of colors and sounds and ninjas and openings and closings and mafia zombies, and new friends.
I dreamt of girls on wheels turning in circles and causing damage.  I dreamt that I was afraid.  Oh wait.  That part wasn't a dream.

                     When I was a cub, I used to laugh in the face of fear.

No.  When I was a cub I was afraid.

                     When I was a young adult I used to laugh in the face of fear.

Then I would cry when it took me out of my bedroom and put me in hell.  

                    When  I was a younger man  I used to laugh in the face of fear.

I drowned it in boisterous loudness, drink, and drugs, and nudity and sex.  But when I was alone I shook, cried, and fell to pieces.

                     Now I am a man.  I do not laugh in the face of fear.  After all this time I realized that nobody likes to be laughed at in the face.  Not even fear.  I sat down and had a chat with fear.  This is how it went:

Mr. Raccoon:  Hi there, fear.


Mr. Racoon: I guess I deserve that.  I just wanted to say I was sorry.  For all the laughing at you.

Fear: HAHAHAHA!  Why?  I wasn't sorry when I made you afraid.  I wasn't sorry when you would crawl to anyone, even if you hated them just to feel safe from me.  I have no regrets.

Mr. Raccoon: That isn't very nice.  I am trying to make amends here.

Fear: Your amends do nothing for me.  I like when you force yourself under the covers pushing so close that you shiver and beg for the dawn to come.  Even in the arms of your love you are afraid.  That makes me happy.  You want to make amends?  Don't change a thing.

Mr. Raccoon:  I can't do that anymore.  I need to be strong.  My Paladin is counting on me, and Princess Truck needs me, and Love needs me.  I ...

Fear: HAHAHAHAHA!  You couldn't even say it could you?  You are so afraid to decide who you are!  You will never be free of me.  You can't even face me. 

Mr . Raccoon:  I don't know me.  I don't.  You are right.  I used to define myself with stupid tangible things, like smoking or sex or meat but that was a flimsy defense against you.

Fear: I like 'em flimsy.

Mr. Racoon: Then I tried theater, and friends but they defined me and it didn't quite fit with my image of me, but I still haven't defined who I am.

Fear: That unknown scares the shit out of you doesn't it?

Mr. Raccoon:  They I sat and thunk awhile.  I had a cup of coffee, and I watched Princess Truck try on Pirate Shoes and a Sweater.  And it hit me.  I am not afraid.  Sure I get a little apprehensive, but I ain't backing down.  I don't care if it is a bear I am going to fight to protect myself, and those that I love.  

Fear: What?  I wasn't paying attention what did you say?  You see my ears turn off when a fool is lying.

Mr. Raccoon:  That was a dodge, wasn;t it?

Fear: Hmmm?

Mr. Raccoon:  You are dodging me.  You are afraid?  Of me?

Fear: I am fear, idiot.  I am...

Mr. Raccoon:  Mr. Raccoon.

I am not afraid.  I am not fear anymore.  

I am Mr. Raccoon.  I love to eat, I love to play video games and relax.  I love my family.  I really can't be bothered to help others mostly, but on occassion I am swept up on the winds of compassion and give too much to be comfortable.  I think I do that to challenge myself, but it usually hurts more than me and I tend to not help very much in the recovery.  I think my mind has become a bit weak because I stopped reading, and started making up excuses  for anything that poses even a little bit of a discomfort or challenge to me.  I am overcoming this with help from my will, and my family and my friends.  I am not there yet, but this journey promises to be an amazing one.  I am excited.

and awake.

May 9th, 2007

Fun with london broil.


Drunken Broil

1 london broil
1 bottle of high end dark rum. use enough to marinate and drink the rest!  The darker the better. (I used Bacardi Ocho)
1 bottle of high end tequila Use about 2 shots worth and drink the rest! ( I used Padron, but I had some left from a gift.)
The juice of 2 limes
1 chopped papaya
1/2 cup of cocunut milk
1 stick of butter

Kosher salt
Black Pepper
Habenero Peppers
Garlic cloves

1) cut little holes in the broil to shove in garlic and habenero peppers.
2) take a big huge freezer bag and cover the broil with rum papaya and cocunut milk seal it and let it sit until you can't stand the wait any longer.
3) take the marinated broil encrust it with salt and pepper and smear it all over the encrusted broil
4) in a cast iron fying pan sear the bejesus out of the broil.  Meanwhile heat up that oven to about 300.
5) take the seared encrusted broil and the cast iron pan, drop in the tequila and lime juice and cover with foil sit it in the oven until it is the way you like it(rare, medium, etc.)

To me it was like eating a spicy meal, drinking a rum punch, coco loco, and tequila shot all at once.
If you try it and you like it let me know.  I loved it but I never met a London broil I didn't like.

If you don't like it hot I think sweet bell pepper slices could be substituted for the habenero.  

Good Luck!

Mr. Raccoon

April 30th, 2007

Hi there.  I have returned.  I was away for a bit.  Actually I have a confession to make: I don't use the computer on the weekend.   I am a bit too busy.  The Paladin played a halfway decent game of ball with his friends and enemies Saturday morning.  He had no hits and made no plays.  Truly he did well.  I figure any task that The Paladin devotes more than fifteen minutes of attention to that doesn't involve a video game is well done.  I can remember being his age.  I was miserable,  absolutely frustrated at the futility of my own actions and words.  Angry that my new view of the world seemed to hold only rules that tied me down, and responsibility to hold me down, and failure to drive me down.  The whole while people begging my opinion without actually wanting it.  Nodding "That's nice dear" and "Isn't he cute?"  Enough to make you puke.  

Poor cub.  Already has to deal with my roley-poley genetics and the taunting that comes with it.  He also has an imagination that isn't hell bent on the destruction of other species.  He has a tendency to change the rules to benefit him. At his tender age, you rather rarely actually win anything.  Everything is a blow to the ego.  Everyday, walking into school asking if I'll come with him, to afford him a few teasless minutes.  Introducing me to everyone he knows because he wants to show them that there are greater things than lots of friends and designer everything.  There is family.  There is Me, who is hardened  because I  want him  to be strong and not afraid. My hardness makes a distance that is hard to traverse.  I only can play for a few minutes because I am busy.  There is Mommy, who is hard to read and understand.  Who can change her mind so quickly that he is left with his mouth gaping.  Feet and mind moving in two directions so he falls on the floor frustrated and alone.  You want your own way, my Paladin, but don't yet know what that is.  You want to scream but cannot or you will wake the sleeping bear of constant questions.

This Saturday I made a concerted effort to play with The Paladin for more than a few minutes.I hate to leave out his often overstimulated sister, Princess Truck to her own devices but it was just  for the afternoon. He waited while I ran the hose to the water spigot, so I could wash off a dirty toy to occupy his sister while he and I played.  Of course the hose got stuck and I spent ten minutes undoing it.  Then the door was locked so I had to go around front so I could turn the water on.  That took five minutes.  Then I rinsed off the toy and put everything back the way it was taking another fifteen minutes.  I looked up to see him patiently staring at me with big hopeful eyes, waiting toy in hand.   I walked up to play and Princess Truck loses all interest in the toy I just spent a half hour cleaning and plants herself right in the way.  He is frustrated but I can see that little gleam in his eyes as he sees me all angry at the futility of it all.  A sort of unspoken, now you know how I feel, dad kind of look.  That shakes me in my skin.

I took that look as my cue to play until the cows came home.  Since we are fresh outta cows we played a long time.  To the point where he was saying, "How many more minutes?"  He quit at a point and walked off to lie down on the hammock and my whole world did a flip.  I pictured the scenario from his perspective and me saying, "Paladin, I am sorry, sweetheart, but Dad is done today. I just need to rest, we'll play more later."   "We'll play more later Dad."  I felt like crying.  I  had that damned Harry Chapin song in my head, "Cat's in the Cradle."  Damn it all!  What level of person does a Dad  have to be?    It isn't enough to make time.  It isn't enough to listen.  It isn't enough to care and protect and love and define and teach and fend for, and  let grow on his own, and make decisions for and let him make decisions on his own good or bad etcetera.  You have to do all of that and be ready to improvise at any moment all the time.  When you take a break that is an opportunity for hate and darkness to enter.  It is an opening we leave when we are just too tired.  Or too lazy. Like an untended scratch on the skin.   Human potential defies the laws of conservation of energy.  It defies life and death itself.  What better way to use that whole of that potential than in the caring of our own children?  

But I am a selfish raccoon.  Perhaps a jealous raccoon.  I had to wait until I was his age before anyone really tried to be my Daddy.  He tried his best, but his love was my mother's possession and I was just there like a teaching tool.  It isn't his fault.  My stepdad sacrificed his youth for me and my sister and my mommy.   HIs example is one I try to follow/  Everyday I push myself a little more.  I say, "fuck it," one less time than I did the day before.  The Paladin is noticing.  I quit smoking for him.  Now I will quit being lazy for us both.  I can't bear to see him choking on the same knot in his throat that I had in mine.  That aloneness will not be my legacy to him.  He is my miracle boy.  The defender of truth and justice, and I beleive in him.  He is precious to me. 

Before I go let me tell you about Princess Truck's Saturday Adventure.    Most cubs her age take a one to two hour nap during the afternoon to carry her through to bed time.  Well PT hasn't been taking that nap very well lately.  On Saturday, Love and I decided to let it roll.  She stayed awake through her normal nap time and the fun ensued.  She was speaking in tongues, and  twisting in mid air like an cat trying to land on its feet within the first two napless hours.  By the third hour she was giddily repeating "night-night time" while alternately running in a circle and hiding under a big fluffy blanket.  When she finally went to bed not only was there no arguments of any kind, but also a sound that we rarely hear in our house...nothing.  Not a damn thing.  Just plain quiet.  Love and I had a nice evening enjoying the silence.  After I saw the thing he had been asking all day if he could show me.  

My family seems to be the thing that I write about because they are that which keeps me going in this life.  I'll explain that in another post though.

April 27th, 2007

Alrighty.  Where did I leave off?  That is right you just met The Paladin.  My good boy.  I went up to the school to mark on a card when the kids have made a circuit of the field, which happened to be one quarter mile each.  It was a lot of fun.  Some kids walked a quarter mile and quit.  Some walked two and half miles and quit.  The Paladin, who excitedly introduced me to every cub nearby, walked a full mile.   Let me tell you that is a huge feat.  He is built roughly like a...well...raccoon.  All belly and backside.   He told me he loved me and I told him I loved him and he went back to school and I went back home.  I miss him during the day and this made us both remember to speak softly and not to worry so much about the little things that don't really matter.  He is precious to me.

My wife...hmmm...I just realized that I ain't really talked about her much.  First off she is stupid pretty.  Let me explain it like this: she is so pretty that your intelligence quotient drops a denominator when she walks in a room.  She is a raccoon so I guess you have to be attracted to raccoons to understand what I mean.  I call her Love.   When someone inevitably asks, " What does love mean to you?" I just point.  My mom taught me not to point but I do it anyway.  Call me a rebel.  She is still a woman mind you.  She isn't perfect.  Sometimes I don't understand a single word coming out of her mouth.  I don't listen really well, but that is beside the point.  Love tries to remember that I work late and am hungry when I get home.  She tries to remember that I like to be left alone for a few minutes after I get home from work.  Love understands that I am ignorant of her feelings sometimes because I am a selfish raccoon.  So if you ask me what Love is, I point to the woman who tries, remembers and understands.  She is precious to me.

I guess I should tell you what I do for a living.  I solve problems for people who get things done quickly.  I don't have to be quick on my end of things, just thorough and empathic and polite.  I am by nature not terribly quick.  I am not all that thorough either.  Actually I have very little empathy, especially for the stupid.   I am polite only when not being honest to the skewering daggerpoint of rudeness.  Somehow I am better at my job than ninety percent of my coworkers.  Go figure.  Yesterday I worked hard.  I really hate that.  I filed papers and fixed old problems and fixed new problems and made courtesy calls and ate my lunch of keilbasa, celery, diced tomato, white rice, and yellow squash which was quite a highlight.  Love made it and it was delicious.  

It is often quite busy or plodding drudgery slow.  Yesterday it was very busy.  People get punchy and cranky and loud when it is busy.  They whine when it is not busy.  It really isn't fair.  I work with three skunks, a two lemurs a wombat, two monkeys, three foxes, a leopard, a bull, an orangutan, a cracked out squirrel a bagder, a bunchs and two walruses. Yesterday there was an argument between two of the skunks who tell the ferrets where to go and what to do.  They are both named Kenny.  But for simplicity we will call them Stank and Snot.  Stank has a habit of getting too wrapped up on the internet to actually be paying attention to what he is doing.  Snot has a habit of proclaiming his greatness and always rightness so much that he is unable to pay attention to what he is doing.  They both forgot about a particular ferret called Snot's Nephew.  Snot's Nephew is a gift.  Like fruitcake at christmas...no wait I love fruitcake.  Like socks.  You say thank you because you have to.  Snot's Nephew forgot to move something from one place to another.  Snot blamed Stank's inattentive work habits and Stank blamed the fact that Snot's Nephew is a terrible ferret who does nothing and just spends his time talking about how great he is.  The connection was lost on no one.  Stank you see is a spiky fellow.  I think deep down he is actually a porcupine.  (Deep down I am Lynx.)  Snot and Stank got into the office eqivalent  of the chest bump.  They flip their asses in the air and raise their tails while snarling and stamping their feet.  It was a little dangerous since both fellas are on the bulky side and we were busy so customers could hear them yelling in the background. But good sense prevailed and rather than have the entire office stink like skunk, after a few parting shots they stopped.  

Let me tell you this sort of arguing a good thing.  At my old workplace, emotion was deadly to your job security and sanity.  You had to be cool and cold and distant, and still show empathy and sympathy.  I am glad that my coworkers and I get into scratch fights and growling contests.  In its own little way, that interaction keeps us from really losing it.  That interaction reminds us we are not alone.  For all their faults Snot and Stank and Snot's Nephew are precious to me.

So today I slept in.  Princess Truck did a dance on my stomach then got in bed and warmed my back with frenetic kicking.  Love came in and did something I am truly grateful for.  She rounded up Princess Truck and let me sleep for another hour.  When I woke up again, a full hour of shut eye later I took a vain piss.  I pissed while admiring my visage in the mirror.  I was once considered handsome.  I look and see fault.  Lots of un accepted fault. So after my vain piss I came out into the living room to break up a fight between Princess Truck and Love.  Love was trying to get online and Pricess Truck was spinning like a pollynose.   

Some people call them helicopters, or pinwheels.  They are the seed pods of maple trees.  If you split them at the base you have somthing that resembles a long bird's beak.  If you further spilt that base a little bit you can stick it to the bridge of your nose.  My beaver sister and I used to play that game a lot when we were cubs.  We would stand under the silver maple in my Grandmother(a fox)'s driveway or the gray maple at the edge of her front yard and catch them while they were spinning down to us.  We would lie on the grass and watch them fall through the late spring sun and laugh as they fell on our faces.  They looked like butterflies.  I am not  sure how much of that memory is true or hopeful revisionist childhood.  But I like it, I think I will keep it.   

So Princess Truck is spinning like a pollynose and jumping like jackrabbit, and making those sounds that only a little cub can make when she is extremly excited and extremely bored at the same time.   Basically, P.T. was trying to drive Love up the wall in that scary shaky camera vampire-style kind of way.  So I broke up the fight by playing with Princess Truck and giving Love a shoulder rub.  Took a tongue lashing for my chivalry too. I understand that chivalry is supposed to be dead because women want to do everything themselves.  But I ain't changing.  And I taught The Paladin to respect and honor women too so you all can get mad at him when he is unpretentiously and non-judgementally helpful.  After that relaxed into Love saying, " I am sorry I was short with you." and me saying, "I love you anyway," I  ate two spriggs of broccoli made a cup of tea and took my detox pills.  Big damned pills they are too.  I guess I should explain why I am detoxing. 

My doc who is part beaver-part badger says that my liver is fatty.  Now before you go getting the wrong idea, I ain't a big drinker.  Oh I have tied a few on in my day but I would say I drink seriously only four times a year at the most.  St. Patrick's Day, New Years, one Summer Cookout, one Cast Party.   My liver troubles started in college.  I was in pain.  Emotional, physical, and mental.  I had mononucleosis, I was ridiculously horny and had nobody with whom to remove my horn, and I had a serious God complex.  So to combat this pain I took eight hundred miligrams of ibuprofen every two hours.  I did this for about five months.  My diet was delicious but sickeningly unhealthy.  Let us consider my favorite meal:  Two twelve-inch extra meat, extra cheese, bacon, mushroom cheesesteaks,  a sixteen ounce bag of potato chips cooked in lard with fake cheese sauce, an order of mozzarella sticks and hotwings, two huge iced teas, and a large coffee.  Then I went on a few benders that very well may have permanently done damage to my liver.  One night I drank enough dark rum to land me in a mental institution.   Were I met a lovely crazy person who told me all about the various drugs that keep her sane.  It was fun.  But not for my liver.  I am paying for it now by taking fiber and milk thistle and staying away from fried anything.   My liver is precious to me, and I hope it forgives me for what I put it through.

So I took my pills and drank my tea and ate my broccoli.  I chatted with Love about the goings on of people we pretend to be.  It was a bit rainy this morning so we stayed in and chatted and played with Princess Truck and ate eggs and decided eventually to go outside and plant grass seed.  Nothing against dirt or mud.  I love dirt and mud especially between my toes.  Grass just feels so good on my belly when I lay out and watch the ants, and it feels so cool and smells so sweet when I lay on my back to watch the sparkling stars.  I dug a little path for Love's stones to go as a little boundary point for the cub's play yard.  I even dug out a stump.  You see what an extra hour of sleep can do?  I was positively active.  Princess Truck thinks she is full grown.  She tried to play on The Paladin's full grown cub obstacle course/Fortress of the Waning Sun.  So I had to help.  First we played on the swing, then the monkey bars, then the slide, then the arm hanging swing thingy, then the monkey bars, then the slide, then...well you get the idea.  I had just about enough fun so we took P.T. in for a cookie, milk and a nap. 

I decided that since Love let me sleep, I would make the bed so she could take a nap while Princess Truck did.  I did that, the last bits of what I need for work arranged and gave Princess Truck her milk.  I sing three songs to her when I put her to bed.  Sometimes just two but usually all three:  Skidamarinky Dinky Dink by Sharon Lois and Brahm, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and Doodly Doo by  I don't know who.  Some people might remember it from camp, but I rememeber my Grandfather (an Eeyore inspired beaver)'s version.  You have to imagine it in a thick ninteen-thirties Brooklyn accent.

Please play for me 
That sweet melody 
Doodly Doo, Doodly Doo
I like the rest,
But I like IT the best,
Doodly Doo, Doodly Doo
You don't have to swing,
There isn't much to it,
All you have to do it Doodly Doo-IT!
I love it so, wherever I go I just,
Doodly Doodly Doo

On that last bit he would tweak my nose.  I loved it.  My mom sang it to me and I sang it to The Paladin when he was a little baby cub, and now I sing it Princess Truck.  The Paladin added another "DING!" at the end of "BA BOM BOMP!"  and my Grandfather, laughed and laughed.  I still  tweak her nose at the end just in case he is watching and thinks I'll forget.  He was precious to me.  But when he needed me I was selfish.  When he needed me I was trying to get smarter at college.  When he needed me I was too worried about Love and The Paladin to be there for him.    He understood though.  He never got to meet Pricess Truck.  He would have loved her.  She would have made him laugh.  Well, since I don't want you to see me cry I am going to give it a rest for now.  I'll continue tomorrow.  

April 25th, 2007

A little of April 25th.

Cutey Coon
Woke up late.  My dear wife planted her silky rump next to me and curled up in a little ball. 

She said, "Mr. Raccoon, get yer ass out of bed.  You gotta volunteer thing at the school, remember?"

Ah, shit.  No, I had forgot, but that's why you get married:so you can have someone to remind you of the things you forget.
My littlest cub climbed into the love nest and drove her ungentle back paws into my unprotected pouch.   She was screeching all the while," Daddy, Daddy, DADDY! WAKE UP!! WAKE UP!!"  

I whined a bit, like a bitchy chipmunk, but I got to be tough or the little one will grow up soft.  Ah, shit, who am I kidding?  She is tougher than me already.  Her nickname is Princess Truck.  She is bigger than your average cub, louder than your average Peterbilt and stronger than most oak trees I know.  So I whined a ton, like a bitchy chipmunk on meth caught in a mousetrap.   

Then I got my ass out of bed.  Took a long melodious piss.  It did have a melody really.  Sort of like Beethoven's Egmont overture.  BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.   BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.  BA-BAAAAA.  BA-BAAAAAAA.  Ah shit.  That sounds like a sheep having an orgasm. If you know the tune then you will know what I am talking about.  My urination this morning was a thing of all encompassing beauty.  Felt like the robins were in chorus with it and the cars passing on the highway held the bass line.  Guess you had to be there.

I ambled as I am wont, to the kitchen.  I ambled because my knees have been a bit crotchity of late.  My kitchen over looks the cub's play yard and the majesty of a massive oak tree.  My little garden is there too.  Ok so it is my wife's garden.  But it is lilttle and it is there next to oak tree.  Don't understand planting veggies myself.  I just eat them when I get them.  She works hard on it, and I guess by doing that there is more veggies to eat before winter and all but it seems an awful waste of good seeds and scraps.  I ate a banana for breakfast.  Actually half a banana.  I ate the "ba".  Princess Truck ate the "nana."  Because when she looks at me with those big blue eyes, and says, "Daddy please!  Nana, EAT!"  I have to sit down right next to her, crochety knees and all, and share it.  She is precious to me.

I remember after my "ba" that I need to get to the school to volunteer with my son.  You got me.  My wife reminded me.  Again.  So I get my ass in gear and high tail it over to the school where he learns to cheat, steal and otherwise take all that is needed to survive.  At least that is what he should be learning.  All of the other little cubs are learning that.  Not my son.  My son is big and strong, and gentle and kind and caring, and selfish and arrogant, and altruistic.  We call him The Paladin.  He'll do no wrong as long as it benefits his particular system of beliefs which changes with the weather.  But I will have to tell you more about him tomorrow as I am ready to curl back in my bed.  After a snack of course.  

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