Thanks Teakwoodkite and rwc. I’ll try not to react to the trolls.

When I was 9, our family dog was hit by a car, and killed, at the time our basement had this really peculiar smell, out of the ordinary.

So I always associate that smell with a dog’s death, a Proustian thing, I call it, strangely enough, “dead dog smell.”

And I swear I just smelled it, even though I have no dog.

Sorry, I guess it’s off to bed.

Last night, I dreamt about a huge obese pig wearing a bell hop uniform far too small for him, I hope I don’t dream it tonite.

I always think of that scene in MASH where nurse meg craddy refers to the brass at Henry’s court martial hearing as “high priced bell hops.”

he will never put our country’s national security on the line

How can you make that assertion?

Wow, I’d disagree.