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           _____   / _` | |_| '_ ` _ \   _____ 
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                   Another Foggy Moment                              
  
 These are the continuing adventures of a typical resident 
 of the self-proclaimed center of the Pugetopolis universe - 
 Seattle. Most are true stories but some are made of whole-
 cloth. I ain't the Mayor, the Governor or a Big Shot. Just 
 another Working Stiff with a Bad Attitude.

    ------------------------------------------------
    WARNING: This is not a Child-Proof Neighborhood.
    If you're a kid - scram!, beat it! you little
    punk before your Old Lady catches you and calls
    the cops. They'll throw you in the Big House in
    Walla Walla and won't let you out until you're
    89 years old. There. Don't say I didn't warn you.
    -------------------------------------------------

 		          - 122 -


 After only three years, Mark McLaughlin's name has pretty much faded 
 from Seattle's civic memory. He was, afterall, a pretty ordinary young
 guy. He got his Kicks shooting Hoops with his son and having a few 
 beers with his buddies over football on the Boob Toob. He drove bus 
 for King County Metro transit for most of 20 years. He really wanted to 
 be a Cop or Fireman; the bus-driver thing just kind of happen. Don't 
 get him wrong - he liked it and especially liked the different people 
 it brought into his life. One of whom was a young lady with a couple 
 kids who was a regular on his route. They fell in love and were
 planning on getting hitched. In fact, the day Mark entered the city's
 memory, round about Thanksgiving in 1998, he was putting in overtime 
 to help make a downpayment on the house they were going to buy. 

 Then a Monster popped up out of nowhere and put an end to it all. As
 Mark was entering onto the Aurora Street Bridge over the Ship Canal
 heading into Seattle, a young guy sitting in the front of his bus, 
 got up, walked over to him and shot him at point-blank range. Just 
 like that. Then he shot himself. The bus went careening out-of-control 
 across the bridge and over the side. Mark and a couple of his passengers 
 died, many others were injured as the bus bounced off an apartment 
 60-feet below and augered into the ground.

 Many people visited the site and turned it into a temporary memorial
 with little notes scribbled and stuck to the bridge's pillers, as well
 as flowers, candles and other tokens of the grief they felt at this 
 terrible event. Mayor Schell couldn't be bothered showing up. In fact,
 within a week or so, he had the site cleared of this messy debris
 to save the City any further embarassment from the memory of the event.

 Mark's fellow drivers staged a huge memorial service in his honor 
 in which buses from all up and down the west coast paraded through 
 downtown to Key Arena. Each was stuffed with Metro drivers and their 
 families as well as represenatives from all over the country plus 
 a large delegation of Canuk drivers from Vancouver and Victoria, BC. 
 Political bigshots who had never met Mark and likely wouldn't have 
 given him the time of day, like Senator Murray and KingCo Exec 
 "Cadillac" Sims, rode in a big limo with smoked-glass windows at the 
 front. Mark's family rode in an old bus further back with some of 
 his buddies. It was very impressive. Mayor Schell couldn't be 
 bothered showing up at this either. 

 The bigshots got first whack at the podium, but Mark's buddies, who 
 followed, stole the show. They turned it into a celebration of the 
 life of their pal - a simple, ordinary Public Servant and a decent 
 guy, who died in the act of serving us. All spoke of the many Good
 Times they'd had together. One mentioned that Mark would be really,
 really impressed to hear they booked Key Arena for this shindig - 
 he was a big Sonics fan and the Key is their home-court. Another bus
 driver got out his 'Axe' and did one of Mark's favorite Jimi Hendrix 
 solos as a tribute. 

 If they got satellite TV up in Heaven, you can bet Mark joins 
 the gang of Seattle regulars over at Jimi Hendrix's place when 
 the Sonics are playing: Kurt Cobain, Myrtle Edwards, Sen. "Maggie" 
 Magnuson, Cong. Marion Zioncheck, Chief Sealth, Doc Maynard, 
 Captain Ivar Haglund, Bill Boeing, Councilman Sam Smith, Mildreen
 Solomon, Fred Hutchison and many, many others. No doubt George
 "Tennis Shoes" Kotolaris and his old Ma "Pansy" would be there too
 sporting their finest attire as they did at so many of Seattle's
 gala events. Pizza's on its way and the beer's in the fridge, 
 Bro. Help yourself.

				 *

 Mayor Nickles. Even amongst the political Nobodies who've been
 Seattle mayors, has any of them ever entered the job with lower
 expectations? I doubt it. A do-nothing, know-nothing city council 
 member and waste of space on the Sound Transit Board, it's unlikely 
 he'll be more than that as mayor. If he manages to stay out of 
 jail over the next four years we'll consider it a victory. On 
 the up-side, we not only flushed Mayor Paulie, we also flushed 
 the Human Prune - our Civic Ambulance-Chaser Herr Sidran. At 
 least we'll able to pass City Hall without holding our noses 
 for a while. Oh for the days of Tiny Freeman and the Owl Party.
 He financed his losing mayoral run years ago by selling a rot-
 gut wine called "Tiny's Vino Keeno". Now THAT'S class!

                                *

 The Little Stinker in Olympia must be smoking that funny stuff 
 again. Ever since 9/11 our Gubnatorial Dwarf has been jumping 
 up and down in a vain attempt to get people to notice him. If 
 you can't beat 'em, join 'em eh. The Anti-Terrorist legislation 
 he and Princess Christine, our mathematically-challenged State 
 Ambulance Chaser, are proposing is about as bizzare as it gets. 
 Even dumber than Ol Yeller's, if anyone thought that was possible. 

 First off, we don't have a terrorism problem here and never have. 
 Closest we came to having a bona fide terrorist step foot in our 
 state was when Mr. Ressem, the Mad Muslim From Canada, tried to 
 ferry over the border with bomb-fixins in his trunk. But he was 
 just passing through on his way to LAX and the Feds nailed him long
 before the State Patrol even knew he existed. He wasn't interested 
 in Washington anyways - he had bigger fish to fry. The only terrorists 
 at the WTO Conference were the Cops. As far as the world is concerned, 
 that was a Police Riot. True, commuting in Puget Sound traffic pretty
 near qualifies as being under daily terrorist attack. But, aside from
 that daring bare-breasted Babe who distracted I-5 traffic from atop a 
 power tower a couple years ago and those thugs from New York City who 
 show up every fall to beat the snot out of the Mariners, nobody seems
 to pay us much mind.
 
 Second of all, thanks to Stinky there ain't much here to terrorize 
 anymore. Boeing is on its way outta here as are many other companies. 
 Amazon's rationing out paperclips these days while many other Dot.commies
 have Bought The Farm. If one of the ferries sunk we wouldn't even know
 if it was deliberate or just the result of deferred maintenance. True, 
 we do have the World-Famous Leaning Condos of Seattle just below St. 
 Mark's Cathedral near Capital Hill. As you may recall, they're the 
 condos that became mobile in a mudslide a few years ago. No doubt it 
 would generate big international headlines if anyone blew them up. I 
 can see it now - "Thank Heavens! They're Finally Gone!".

 The only legitimate terrorist targets we've got that may be of
 international significance are the Yakima listening-post of Uncle 
 Sammy's officially nonexistent Echelon Snooper Network and the 
 west coast's only nuke storage facility at Bangor on Hood Canal. 
 But they both have lethally-armed Marine detachments guarding 
 them 7/24 along with a few air-wings of Tomcats, Prowlers and
 B-52s at NavAir Whidbey Island and Fairchild AFB as well as a
 bunch of Army Rangers at Fr. Lewis backing them up. They don't 
 need Olympia's help.

 Oh well...maybe Stinky will have better luck dealing with non-
 existent problems then he's had at dealing with existent ones.
 Perhaps he just wants to play Colonel Klink with his own little
 concentration camps. He really should check with Governor 
 Eyeman before going ahead with this thing eh.

.......................................................................

                           A JOKE

 An older couple from Enumclaw who ran a little store of their own
 saved up their money and decided to take their first trip to Asia. 
 So they buy the tickets, and when the Magic Day comes, head for 
 SeaTac and board their plane. They're off and run'n.

 Halfway through their trip, while somewhere over the vast Pacific
 Ocean, the Captain announces, "Ladies and gentlemen. I'm afraid I
 have some bad news. We're experiencing engine problems and must
 must land immediately." Right away, everyone makes for the windows
 only to see nothing but water. Oh oh. The Captain continued, "My
 co-pilot fortunately spotted an unoccupied island we can make an
 emergency landing on. Please fasten your seat belts. It might get
 a little rough." Everyone does as he requests and prepares for the
 worst. 

 All and all it's not a bad landing and nobody gets hurt. The Captain
 gathers everyone together and informs them of two things: first, all
 the communications equipment was destroyed by a short-circuit during
 the landing and he can't put out a Mayday. Second, this island doesn't 
 appear to be on any map and it may be a very long time, if ever,
 before they get rescued. This causes groans and gasps from the 
 passengers. 

 The couple from Enumclaw wander off under a nearby palmtree to
 contemplate their fate. "Did we pay our quarterly Federal Income
 Tax yet?", asks the wife. "No! What a rediculous thing to ask at
 time like this," says her husband.

 His wife ignores the comment and asks, "Did you remember to mail 
 off our State taxes before we left?" "Aw for Pete's sake Mabel!
 No, I forgot to send the the check. So what! Let 'em rot!", replies
 her husband.

 "One last thing", asks his wife, "Did you remember to send the 
 property tax check this month?" "Nope. I'm afraid I forgot that 
 one too. And what exactly is your point?", replied her husband.

 She merely grinned back at him and said, "Good!". 

 "Good?! Have you gone nuts or something? Whatta you mean 'good'?
 We're stuck in the middle of nowhere and all you can say is 'good'?",
 ranted her husband in disgust and exasperation.

 "You can bet they'll find us now.", she said.

.......................................................................

 "During times of universal deceit, telling the truth becomes a
                       revolutionary act."

                       - George Orwell -
.......................................................................


                     'OL YELLER GOES TO WAR

 Bearing in mind that...
 (1) We still don't know for sure who pulled off the NYC/DC attacks -
     all the perpetrators presumedly died in the act and no credible 
     group has yet claimed responsibility;
 (2) Despite a flood of conflicting 'facts', there still hasn't 
     been a single Congressional or Presidential investigation of 
     the attacks to at least ascertain the basic data;
 (3) We still haven't been given the slightest shred of evidence
     that Osama bin Ladin is directly responsible for any of it,
     including that BS Tony Blair's trying to peddle.

 As Ol Yeller sat quietly reading at his Oval Office desk, his 
 finger slowly gliding across each line, his lips silently mumbling
 the words, his brow furrowing at the Big Words, he suddenly felt 
 a presence before him. "Follow the watch as it swings back and 
 forth...", said a deep voice. "Huh!? Say you look kind of familiar.
 How'd you get 'ere?" asked Yeller as he started to stand and 
 challenge the Mysterious Stranger before him. "Never mind that 
 Mr. President. Just be seated and follow the watch as it swings 
 back and forth...back...and forth....back...and forth...", 
 repeated the stranger. "Unh...Just a doggone minute...I unh...
 I unh...okee dokee...I'm faller'n it.", said Yeller as he sat
 back down. "Excellent! Your eyelids are becoming increasingly 
 heavy...back...and forth...you are becoming very tired...back...
 and forth...you are getting sleepy." instructed the stranger. 
 The quiet of the room was broken by a loud hollow THUD! as 
 Yeller's forehead hit the top of his desk.

 The stranger moved to Yeller's side and, leaning over, whispered
 in his ear, "I am back George. It is I Osamam bin Ladin your old
 business partner, and you are now completely under my control." "Yes 
 Osama. By the Will of Allah, I am your slave. Do with me as you will", 
 said Yellowbelly in a low monotonic mumble. "You have done well
 my old friend. Thanks to your wonderful work the Great Satan America 
 has almost been brought to its knees. You have behaved exactly as 
 programmed, just like the former-Soviet psychologist said you would. 
 He of course had an unfortunate accident and is no longer with us, 
 Allah have mercy on his soul. In Phase 1, our operatives arranged to 
 have you awarded the Presidency; in Phase 2 you set about destroying 
 the economy of the United States; in Phrase 3, with your help, the 
 Angels of Allah's Vengence struck at the heart of the Beast bringing 
 it to its knees; in Phase 4 you proded the Beast to soil itself with 
 acts of extreme bigotry and cruelty, thus revealing to the world it's 
 True Soul. And now for Phase 5.", at which point the Stranger put his 
 lips right up to Yeller's ear and inaudibly whispered into it. A few
 moments later, President Yellowbelly suddenly shouted out, "Get yer 
 Gol Dang tongue outta my ear Buster!" "Sorry. I got carried away.", 
 replied the Mysterious Man From The East.

 "And now I must go", said the stranger as he abruptly stood back up,
 "You understand exactly what you must do next don't you George?"
 "Yes Keemosabee", replied the President, "I will do as you say. Ah. 
 By the way, you don't happen to have that $200 you borrowed off of 
 me in Dallas back when we were in the oil business together, do you?" 
 "Hey Man! I paid you back in the parking lot of that bar in Fort Worth 
 the next night. Don't you remember?", responded Osama. "Okay! Okay! 
 No need to get huffy. I'll take your word for it.", interjected Ol Yeller.
 "Now rise and resume your postion at your desk. When I snap my fingers 
 you will awaken and remember nothing of this meeting. Do you understand 
 George?", commanded the Stranger. President Yellowbelly nodded his head 
 in assent. Then, with a snap of his fingers, the Mysterious Stranger 
 once again silently receeded into the White House shadows.
 
 "Weeelll Doggies! I plumb musta nodded right off. Read'n comic books
 sure can tucker a feller out some.", said Ol Yeller to no one in 
 particular. In the corner of his eye he spotted a match-book lying
 on the carpet. He walked over, picked it up and read...

                 Mullah Mohammed's Bar & Grill
                 - Camel Ribs Our Specialty - 
                       500 Taliban Drive
                      Tulak, Afghanistan 
                    * Happy Hour 4 -6 pm * 
                         Free Parking 

 "I wonder where in tarnation this came from?", mused the President. 

 The British science mag "New Scientist" says it recognized the Al
 Qaida nuke plans that CNN News Bimbo was waving around after the
 fall of Kabul. It was a xerox of an article from "The Journal of
 Irreproduceable Results" - a venerable and hilarious American 
 science humor magazine. Some years ago they ran a parody article 
 about how to build a nuclear weapon after an undergrad got spanked 
 by a judge for a more sincere if less adept attempt at the same 
 thing. Their protest of the absurdity of it all. Somebody from the 
 Taliban figured our News Nazis would be just clueless and moronic 
 enough to mistake it for the Real Thing. And they were right on 
 the money. Doh! Who says Muslim extremists don't have a sense 
 of humor?

 The FBI's going to have to conduct it's bigotted Witch-Hunt for
 Muslim-Americans without the help of the Portland (OR) Police
 Department. The Chief down there told the G-Men to take a hike
 saying his boys have better things to do than waste their time
 with that crap. Given the number of times the FBI has covered
 Chief Gil's useless butt in the past year, I doubt if they'll
 have that sort of problem here. Seems like only yesterday our 
 News Nazis were hypocritically clucking their tongues in disgust 
 and dismay at our WW-II Japanese Internment Camps. Handed the 
 equivalent, they haven't even got the balls to ask where the 
 concentration camps are in which the FBI is holding over a thousand 
 'suspects', let alone what condition those people are in. BTW - 
 still not the slightest hint of a round-up of Right Wing Wackos 
 and Anti-Abortion Fruitcakes despite the common suspicion that 
 the anthrax attacks are domestic and seem to be mainly targeting 
 pro-choicers. I guess the FBI doesn't 'Do' White People anymore
 eh. I wonder who does?

......................................................................

                     A RELIGIOUS JOKE

 This old guy goes to the ladies department of the Bon Marche,
 marches up to the counter and says, "I want to buy a bra for
 my wife."

 "What type of bra?", asked the clerk.

 "Huh? You mean there's more than one type?", says the guy.
 
 "Of course there is.", she says indicating the wide variety
 of bras on display nearby. "But really there are only 3 basic 
 types."

 Confused, the old guy asks her what those types are.

 "Well, there's the Catholic type, the Salvation Army type and
  the Baptist type", she responded. "The Catholic type supports 
  the masses, the Salvation Army type lifts up the fallen, and 
  the Baptist type makes mountains out of molehills." 

......................................................................

 		        MONDO VATICANO

 St. Hugh of Lincoln was some kinda guy. For one thing, he had a
 pet swan. In fact, since he ran what was unofficially the local
 animal shelter, he had a whole slew of pets whom he was very fond
 of. He also had what he himself described as a 'peppery' temper. 
 Born into a life of privilege as son of the Lord of Avalon, he 
 turned it on its head and used the worldly Royal access it gave 
 him to further his spiritual Good Works. In his time, he fearlessly 
 and very personally challenged three absolute English monarchs, one 
 of whom had snuffed St. Thomas Beckett, and not only lived to tell 
 the tale but earned their affection. As big of a pain in the butt 
 as he was, they came to admire his courage and respect his personal 
 integrity enough that the King himself was one of the pall-bearers 
 at his funeral.

 His father had him shipped off to a convent for raising after his
 mother died when he was only eight. He liked it so much there he 
 decided he wanted to be a monk when he grew up instead of a Lord. 
 Which he did. But with his kind of connections, it was a cinch they 
 wouldn't let him just spend his days in prayer as he no doubt 
 would have preferred. Instead, he got involuntarily promoted to
 management.

 King Henry II, trying to make up for killing Thomas a Beckett, 
 asked Hugh to build a new monastery for him. When Hugh found 
 out the King had booted all the peasants off the land the 
 monastery was to be built on, he refused to build it until 
 the peasants were compensated. This monkly insouance pissed off 
 Henry no end, but, having just killed one saint, I guess he 
 figured killing another one might be pushing his luck, so he 
 caved in and coughed up the Dough. 
 [Hugh's approach to angry monarchs was rather unique: he played 
 with them - cracking jokes, twisting their noses, or just giving 
 them a big friendly hug and a little smooch on the cheek. They
 found this slightly wacky but brilliant and warmly human man 
 too nice to get really pissed off at.] 

 Ordered by his religious superiors to become the new Bishop of 
 Lincoln, the largest and richest diocese in the country, much 
 against his own wishes, he got even with them by showing up at 
 his consecration riding alone on a donkey and wearing a filthy, 
 raggedy old monk's habit. He marched barefoot right past the 
 gap-mouthed Knights into the magnificent cathedral for the 
 ceremonies. Afterwards, ignoring the Rich & Famous who had all 
 the best seats, he threw a big party for all the poor people 
 who came. No rich guys allowed. 

 He threw his doors open to the poor, personally feeding them, 
 comforting the sick, sheltering the homeless and burying the
 indigent dead (hence the term "Grateful Dead"). He then set 
 about re-establishing the Lincoln schools and drew the Best 
 & Brightest he could find to staff them. Within a short while 
 they rivaled the best schools in Paris. He rebuilt his grand 
 but earthquake-damaged old cathedral. Not merely standing 
 around barking orders, but often joining in as a regular 
 common laborer. When the Pope ordered his bishops to provide 
 soldiers for his Crusades in the Holy Lands, Hugh was the 
 only bishop on record to refuse. In effect, he told the Pope 
 to fight his own damn wars. Though I'm sure he was much too 
 nice to put it that way.

 When King Richard succeeded King Henry, the first thing he did 
 was go after the Jews. Bishop Hugh let his Jewish community know
 that he would shelter them from the King's bigotry. More, he often
 waded alone into local lynch mobs and riots to wrest away the Jews 
 they were intent on stringing up. He was like a Texas Ranger: one 
 mob, one saint. He wasn't afraid of anyone - King or bigot. When 
 a young local thief got snuffed by someone he double-crossed, the 
 local anti-semites tried to sling it that the Jews killed him and 
 set about claiming the dead kid was a Holy Martyr. Hugh, familiar
 with the 'martyr', stepped in, personally dismantled their 'shrine' 
 and told them all to go home and Get a Life. He was truely a 
 Righteous Goy.

 There are many such tales of Saint Hugh. He was an extraordinarily
 brave and honest guy. I can't imagine my bishop having Hugh's chutzpah.
 He's far too much of a bureaucratic coward and, unless there's the
 chance of getting some free tax-money for his schools, serenely 
 uninterested in politics. His recent appeal for the life of a death
 row inmate was limp-wristed and readily ignored. He doesn't Do hospital 
 visits except for Big People. And while he'd be happy to sell you a 
 plot in a Catholic cemetary, if you don't have the Dough, get lost. 
 His homeless shelters and relief programs are the most restrictive 
 and difficult to qualify for in the City - no more than a superficial 
 token effort at best. And if the FBI haul away the Muslims, they can 
 be assured of my bishop's full and eager cooperation. He's more of an
 embarassment than an inspiration. Hugh had integrity, courage and a 
 simple Christian spirit; all my bishop's got is discretion, disinterest
 and great personal ambition.

 Hugh proved that Catholic traditions have nothing at all to do with 
 being a political Butt Kiss or sucking up to Big Shots. Quite the 
 contrary. Truely, the Holy Spirit moved visibly through his life, 
 watching over and protecting him as God's Will worked through him.

 Hugh's feast day was last week.

			+	+	+ 

 Future-Super-Saint JP-2 has invited all the world's religious leaders
 for a little BBQ in Assisi, Italy this summer. Not really. He's only
 inviting those whom he personally considers to be religious leaders.
 You can bet your keester it won't include that nice Christian-Korean 
 Mr. Moon, who recently married off one of JP-2's Bishops. Or any of 
 them Buddhists. The old Pollock bigot's got a real Thang about Asians.
 Aside from playing political games with the lives of Chinese Catholics,
 Asia ain't even on his map. His is a tiny, tiny subset of the actual 
 community of religious leaders. Just another one of his phony Dog and 
 Pony shows. And it assumes he doesn't keel over on us sometime before 
 the BBQ. With his brain now generating the same electrical activity 
 as a turnip, it's a toss-up if anyone would notice that he croaked. 
 The old egomaniac even looks disgustingly like a stiff nowadays. Give 
 it up, fer cry'n out loud! You're grossing people out Dude.

			+	+	+

 Rather than go to all the bother of delivering his apology in person
 to the people of Oceania as he traditionally has done with such matters
 in the past, JP-2 said "Screw it! Email the damn thing." What after
 all are the people of Oceania to the bigots in the Curia but little 
 dark people of no consequence. Instead of highlighting the apology, 
 the Vatican Spin Doctors spun the novelty of a brain-dead Old Fart 
 like JP-2 emailing something. The apology was generically referred to
 as just 'a document'. If it weren't for a couple uncooperative News 
 Nazis no one even would have noticed that it was an apology that was 
 being emailed. Nice try Boyz. Even so, they did succeed in burying
 most of the discussion of the horrific sexual abuse the apology was 
 for. Best to leave sleeping dogs (and pervert priests) lay.

			+	+	+ 

 The Boyz in the Vatican's Holy Congregation for Spin were slinging
 it hot and heavy this past week with a blanket claim that Catholics
 universally love and respect Future-Super-Saint JP-2, the Curia Wops
 and all the Bishops. It's nonsense of course. First of all Holy Mother 
 Church ain't no democracy. The laity had no say whatsoever in the 
 naming of JP-2 or any of the others to their jobs. It isn't so much 
 that they don't know how we feel about them, it's more a matter of 
 they really don't give a damn. They'll just fill in the blanks whatever 
 way suits their fancy. Since there is no way to complain, there are
 no complaints. Neat and tidy.

 With no direct way of measuring our affection, one has to go to the 
 next level - how closely do we value their counsel? That's simple - 
 hardly at all. The churches are virtually empty, the confessionals 
 have been empty for decades, the priesthood has all but evaporated 
 and the few remaining priests are rapidly aging, three-quarters of 
 the people who take Holy Communion do not believe it is the body and 
 blood of Christ, Catholic women not only routinely use birth control, 
 they also are 30% more likely to seek abortions than Protestant women. 
 The 3 most politically powerful Catholics in America are all strong 
 pro-choice advocates. This is in flagrant violation of the Vatican's 
 teachings. For most of us, Holy Mother Church is little more than
 a quaint social club. If we care so little for the well-being of
 the Church, it makes little sense that we'd have any great affection
 for those who brought her to the sad state she is in today. Roma is 
 a legend in its own mind, not ours.

-------------------------------------------------- 
 The above is copyright material. You want to use it, 
 ask. You want to make money off it, gimme some first. 
 I'll let you know if it's enough. You want to steal it, 
 I'll sic my lawyer Yoshi 'The Proctologist' Rasmussen 
 on you baby. He'll teriyaki your sorry butt and turn 
 it into Lutefisk.
~-------------------------------------------------- 
 MAIL:    tofoggymoment@yahoo.com
 ARCHIVE: http://www.geocities.com/tofoggymoment
--------------------------------------------------