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Sometimes I love writing my column. This week I wrote about Go Topless Day. Yes, it’s pretty much about what you think it is. And boobs. I got to write “boob” in the newspaper as if it’s a professional term to be wielded with a straight face.

Not only that, but I also found out about this crazy, UFO-based religion, Raelism … which advocates Go Topless Day … because it’s totally logical that women running around topless is intrinsically linked to alien visitation. Extraterrestrials are only coming here for the boobs. Remember that.

I hope the NSA doesn’t catalog my search history.

They’ll be all, like, WTF? at pam[at]


Every family has sayings, those bits of wisdom, wit or bafflement drug out to provide color commentary on life’s moments.

The other evening John and I barbecued T-bones and served them up with baked potatoes and salad with cucumber sauce and a side of fresh strawberries. As I settled back in my secondhand chair in my dilapidated little single-wide mansion, I heard my dad’s voice: “Ahhh. I wonder what the poor people are eating tonight?”

Tonight, it’s fajitas at pam[at]

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