"If you explode it in Ft Knox, the entire gold supply of the US would be radioactive for 57 years." - James Bond, Goldfinger (1965)

Lego appears to have introduced a tech-support Lego guy. Or a George Lucas Lego.

First, an apology. I promised to recycle regift the posts that I had (after editing, sometimes major editing) previously posted. Like an Admiral in the Imperial Fleet, I have disappointed you. Hopefully not for the last time. Er, hopefully for the last time, but not because you’re using Jedi mind force to choke me. Pop Wilder is in town, and because I have to keep going on tequila runs for him, well, I’ve been busy. I promise I’ll be better next week. Onward . . .

I think The Mrs. was bitten by a radioactive spider when she was preggers with Pugsley. There is no other explanation, least not one I can think of.

It started last week . . .

The Mrs. was out doing, well, whatever it is The Mrs. does when she’s not cracking the whip on The Boy, Pugsley and I. Exactly what The Mrs. does when she’s not keeping us from killing ourselves is a mystery to all of us.

Our (The Boy and I) only guesses so far:

• conducting secret government agent business,
• engaging in girl lumberjack competitions,
• shopping for Pez™, or
• getting away from the three numbskulls that make her life a smelly ball of mud and noise.

As to the noise part, I heard a noise coming from The Boy’s bedroom. I looked around. The Boy was busy drawing up plans to knock out a kitchen wall and replace our existing fridge with something that looked like a side-by-side stainless steel coffin. No. Not him. Must be Pugsley.

I (reluctantly) got up and went into the other room. Pugsley, all two years and a week of him, was smiling and laughing, standing on The Boy’s chest o’ drawers, jumping up and down, and dancing. The surface of the dresser is some three feet off the ground.

What had lured Pugsley up there was the light switch. When he finally figured out that light switches weren’t intended to be decorative, rather, they were intended to actually do something, Pugsley became obsessed with trying to put his grubby little sweaty fingers on each and every one in the house.

Then, today, we found him on the middle of the kitchen table, sitting and playing with a toy.

The last straw was a trip up a set of stairs that a baby could easily fall down from. We caught up with Pugsley when he was about 8’ off the ground. The Boy decided to create a sign warning Pugsley that he shouldn’t climb stairs.



How Pugsley got up on The Boy’s dresser is still a mystery to us. That’s why I think that a radioactive spider is to blame. No human child could have climbed up the dresser like that. Also, The Mrs. seems to have the ability to shoot webs out of her hands. All six of them.