There's absolutely no reason for the pun in the title. None. I am incorrigible.

Also, the holiday season put on some camo-paint, stapled a shrub to its head and hid behind Thanksgiving, where it lay in wait to ambush me. Which has been done. Successfully. Staying home for the holidays in no way means that you're off the hook for mailing shit all over the world. Mother, you're still in Swaziland with no permanent, reliable address. Your box will ship on Bastille Day.

Until I return from the post office:

From Deadlier Than the Male:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.

In Yukon Solo (1983) by Karel Dohnal, page 123:

"Each grave at the Kokrines Cemetary contained two tightly sealed jars with food for the journey to the Happy Hunting Grounds--one with moose jerkies and the other with king salmon."

Ho ho ho, indeed.