Those new graphic warning images on cigarettes are a good idea, but why stop there? On booze, how about photos of people drunk-dialing their bosses or exes? On fast-food packaging, a manatee-esque dude sprawled dead on a couch, remote control in one hand, the other clawing at the heart that gave out a week ago, french fries scattered hither and yon and his pet shih tzu dining on his extremities.

My dumb dog comes running whenever I shout "cookie," never mind that it's been months since I gave him one. Idiot. Of course, when my wife shouts "ice cream," I come running, too, only to find some damn chore to be done. So, who am I to mock? Oooh, I think she's yelling it now. Bye!

Excruciating headache, swollen purple tongue, sticky mustache, bloodshot eyes, stained chin, churning stomach, shaky hands. Jesus, it's all a blur -- how many Kool-Aid stands did I go to yesterday?

Spending the day on my deck perusing my summer reading list. Larsson, Larson, Louv. Fey, Foer, Franzen. Mankell, Mieville, Moning. Kawasaki, Krakauer, Kasischke. Shin, Shulevitz, Shteyngart. Impressive, huh? As you can see, I'm a habitue of the Sunday Times book section. Next summer, perhaps I'll even read some books. For now, I'm content to know I have the best list in town. Hell, I might just read it again tomorrow.

What I have out back is not so much a garden as a rabbit preserve.

This just in: Huskers have informed NCAA they're vacating their 2010 football losses as self-punishment for letting athletes read too much.

Yes, as a matter of fact, if my friend jumps off a cliff, I might, too -- especially if I can’t get that mountain climbing rope between us untied quickly enough.