Thanks, thanks

On the plane with my darling Sarah on my lap. It's gonna be a great trip. Free Wifi. Incredible. I feel like I'm in the World of Tomorrow. There's an angsty kid sitting next to me who plugged his ears up with those lousy iPod earbuds. He gets the window seat. Appropriate. So he can glower at the world below like some sort of latter-day teenage Grinch.

I'm in the middle seat. I wonder who the person on the left will be.

I survived my trip to New York's most famous dermatologist, Dr. Zizmor. For a measly 500 clams he removed that pesky speck next to my belly button. It turned out to be a pink, non-cancerous mole that looked like a cross between a skin tag and a wart. And thanks to my tactile fixation after years of playing videogames, I couldn't stop picking at it. And artists were beginning to paint it in.

We can't have THAT. Snip, snip.

Our friend in 38D has yet to show his face. For a "full flight", it's looking a tad scant.

But back to Dr. Zizmor. This guy is a star, y'all. Everyone in New York knows who he is, thanks to his tacky ads on the subways. And who can forget his role as pioneer in the world of facials? Dr. Zizmor's patented chemical peels!

When he popped his head into th waiting room and said, in a quick, nervous manner, "Iddlebe five minnits, Jooahn," my heart went pitter-pat. It's HIM! It's really HIM! I was going to have my speck removed by a STAR.

And he did it. All while chewing a stick of gum.

Looks like the procratinators are all here. A family of red-dot Indians. Thanks for keeping us from an on-time departure.





-- Post From My iPhork