What’d you say? Huh? Yeah, I just woke up, too. Oh well… looks like another one. Sunrise, sunset, blah blah blah.

What’s been happening around these parts? Let’s see, now. A thing or two. We’ve got a crack in the earth going, as you know. Straight down to the chewy center. Less said about that the better, frankly. After all, we’re still officially squatters here at the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, and if the actual owners of this renowned property had any idea of the shape it’s in (let alone the fact that there is a major crack in the Earth’s crust contained within), they would see us evicted, convicted, etc. Then there’s those mongooses again – you remember them, don’t you? We had some problems with mongooses some years back, taking over our beloved lean-to, then invading the mill and trying on our galoshes while we were gone. Very pesky fellows indeed. Well, they’re back. C’est la vie. (I think it’s all the greasy cooking the man-sized tuber has been doing. More on that later.)

Of course, we’re still working on the new album. Tracking the second song right now, as we speak. I’m putting down a keyboard part as I type these words, in fact. (I’ve got this splitter that allows me to send the signals of my keystrokes into both a computer and a sound module, so that I can make the most of my severely limited time. Pretty clever, huh?) We’re getting a little boost from Marvin (my personal robot assistant), who has been good enough to put down some reference percussion parts while John is out exploring the mountains of Central New Jersey. This has allowed us to make more progress than we should, by rights, have made by now. Which is, of course, considerably less progress than any normal band would have made by now.

What about the man-sized tuber? Well, he’s given up politics. (It’s just too damn cynical for him.) He relinquished his post at the head of the town board and has decided to do cooking lessons out the back door of the mill. At first, he tried to keep us out of the loop on this, thinking we would want a cut of the profits. But you can’t keep us in the dark for more than a month or two, particularly when something is happening right under our noses. And I mean literally. The tuber has but one cooking implement, and that’s a frying pan. So whatever he’s showing people, it usually involves open flame, the pan, a gob of butter, and a whole lot of smoke. If he burns it to a crisp, he just cracks an egg over it and calls it done.

Feeling hungry? I envy you! Sadly, the man-sized tuber has gotten some takers, so we’re likely to smell the aroma of fried shoe leather for a few weeks yet. (Until he discovers another occupation. He’s had almost as many as Homer Simpson!)