How long is it?

About 58 more days. We know; it seems like a long time. And it is - really, really long, so long that the very length of it seems depressing; such a long stretch of days that it's as if days were stretching lengthwise. You're right to cry. We understand, though we are also filming your weeping. Don't worry, we won't post it on the internet; we much prefer to go to the Ask Boz Uniplex and play it in a continual loop, and just laugh at you and point. Waaaaaah! Baby!

We are only so cruel because we went through the same thing. We remember the sweaty days, the distant sound of the pan flute, the over-continence, and the class 6 rapids. For you, the next 58 days will feature more harrowing woes. It will be like a swim in the lipo-dumpster outside the plastic surgeons. It will be like a wistful fairwell to your erstwhile lover as the conducter calls one last time. (Or it "erstful fairwell" to your "wistwhile lover"? Ummmm.) Yes, it will be like a tube ride down a river of flowing glass: long and terribly improbable.

But we got through it, and look at us now! Sure, we're somehow even hairier, and we've forgotten how to feed ourselves, but we've never been closer as a collective. You see, our inability to nourish ourselves has turned into an amazing string of Hunger Strike Tournament Championship trophies. All we have is pep rallies where we look at the trophies, get really keyed up, and then collectively faint from excitement and crippling hunger. Plus, we're real nervous about Regionals next week. Hope we don't remember how to eat!

And we learned to talk to animals. They say the craziest things. "Meow," indeed!

We'd wish you well, but we genuinely just don't care about anyone else. So, bye.

Ask Boz

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