Electric Josh

Why must the President talk so slowly?
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Happy birthday, Mom!
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The guy at the parking booth this morning gave me perhaps the stinkiest five dollar bill I've ever owned. As soon as I rolled the window down I smelled something out of context: there in the middle of the railyard parking lot in rainy east Cambridge was the smell of about ten million lahmajunes that had gone slightly bad. The smell had a direction, like a sound, and changed as I swiveled my head. It was emanating from the money. I smelled each bill (warily, from some distance) and concluded that it was the five. Nasty! I'm trying to think of an excuse to go spend it as soon as possible.
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