Attempt the Second

    Guess who lost the blog post that he attempted to post on Thursday but failed dismally in so doing?  Yep!  That's right!  Your accuity, O Readers of this frivolous blog, is truly a wondrous thing.  Yes, I, Hugo of Horrible character, temperament, and manners, am the guilty party.  And guess what else?  Wow!  Right again!  You are absolutely correct: you will never know what that lost blog post said, because I have forgotten most of it.  Oh, I know, I  know, you don't have to tell me that I am simply the most talented and  skillful hobo blogger alive.  I've known it for years.
    On Thursday (NOT to change the subject or anything), the very day of the fateful Lost Post, my kitten, the Fiend, experienced her very first birthday.  I would say "celebrated her very first birthday," but that might be a bit of a stretch...  At any rate, she is now one year old.  We are all astonished!  That my little Evil One should actually live that long, despite her personality, friends, psychological irregularities, and rather deranged tendencies, is wonderful!  Amazing!  Extraordinary!  She doesn't seem to think so, however, and I must admit that her behavior has not altered in the slightest (although she DID lick my ankles the other evening when I was about to get out of bed, and that was odd, but it was not any odder than her usual oddity, so I don't think that it counts). 
    The other day (don't you think that my transitions are stunning?  I think that I deserve a reward of some sort, and perhaps an honorary title such as "The Great Hobo-Father of Remarkably Smooth Transitions" or "He Who Makes the Post Flow Well" or some such thing), I realized why I love being a hobo so much: it is very like being a hobbit.  Since I am fairly certain that the Dancing Dwarf is the only one of my Readers who has Read The Lord of the Rings, this will be over most of y'all's heads.  Unless you have Read The Hobbit.  At any rate, I have wanted to be a hobbit for a very long time.  The idea of living in a hobbit-hole, going barefoot all the time, and being about three feet tall just makes me grin with delight.  Who doesn't want to be a hobbit?  Even hobos could have fun as hobbits.  After all, three feet is just the most handy height.  It is definitely better than the caterpillar's three inches in Alice in Wonderland... 
    Speaking of Alice in Wonderland, I recently re-read it, as well as its companion, Through the Looking Glass.  I began at the beginning, and went on until I came to the end, but then I did not stop, because I was too busy laughing over the passage in Through the Looking Glass where the White King says, "I did not say that there is nothing better [than eating hay when one is faint].  I said that there is nothing like it." Wonderful!  They are the sort of stories that just get funnier the more often you read them.  And if, like me, you find that to be tear-jerkingly hilarious (some of you will get that later), you really ought to read The Hunting of the Snark:  "And he softly and silently vanished away, For the Snark was a Boojum, you see."  Ah, me.
    Anyway.  What was I saying?  Oh, well, it doesn't matter.  I have a paper to write for Economics.
~Hugo