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April 3, 1997

Dull & Duller
Copyright 1997 - Greg Bulmash - All Rights Reserved

I really haven't had that much going on in my life lately except for the usual grind. I was going to write about how boring my life is, but then I realized I did that just a little over a year ago. Since out of about 2000 weekly readers, there are maybe 14 who were reading this column that long ago, I thought I'd re-run this piece from March 18th, 1996....

I am ashamed to say that I have nothing to write about in this column, because nothing interesting happened to me in the last two weeks. Nothing! My life has been devoid of anything even resembling interesting.

To demonstrate this fact, I present for you a few selected, extremely boring excerpts taken from my personal journal during the past fourteen days.

March 6th:

While driving home from work I was kidnapped by aliens... again. Apparently Zorga, the three-breasted queen of the Falanxian Amazons, wasn't done with me yet.

The last time she abducted me, I'd told her how it was going to be. I was looking for a woman who was willing to commit and settle down to building a life together. Plus, even if she was willing, my parents would definitely have a problem with the fact that she wasn't Jewish. And, on top of it all, she never called after an abduction, just expecting that I'd somehow know how much it meant to her. I told her if she couldn't respect my feelings, she'd just have to find some other plaything.

I put my foot down this time and steadfastly refused to let her satisfy my every sexual need, so she had me beamed back to my car and I went home.

March 8th:

The mafia planted a bomb in my car to keep me from testifying in that racketeering trial. It didn't go off on my way to work, but when I loaned my car to my boss so he could go out and pick up his dry cleaning... Boom!

Well, since he wasn't on my policy, my insurance company refused to cover the damage. Then the FBI said that the legislation enabling the Federal Witness Relocation Program only covered my deductible.

What a gyp.

March 11th:

Alexandra, my old adversary in the KGB from my days with the CIA, called to tell me that she was going to be in town tonight. She's been undercover in a convent for the last six months and wanted to "release some tension," or so she called it.

I told her I couldn't because it was my dad's birthday and I was taking him out to see a dinner-theater production of "Twelve Angry Men," starring Rich Little as all twelve men.

Oh, she begged and pleaded, saying she was being sent off on another mission tomorrow and that this was her only window of opportunity. She even offered to do a two-on-one with one of her friends, Ekaterina, who is a former Miss People's Tractor Factory #34. But what was I supposed to do? You just can't ditch your dad on his birthday.

March 12th:

Zorga won't leave me alone. She doesn't realize that she just can't buy me. Anyway, an 800 carat diamond ring would be too ostentatious.

We spoke over the special communications device she had installed in my cable box (which also allows me to get HBO for free) and I told her that I wouldn't accept the ring unless there was a proposal of marriage accompanying it. She hemmed and hawed a bit, but I finally broke down her defenses. She had gotten through "Greg, will you mar" when her government was overthrown and she was decapitated. And me without a tape in the VCR.

March 16th:

Jerry Garcia came over to watch the Tyson-Bruno fight. He had these digital masters of a secret jam session he'd done last month with Elvis and Jim Morrison up at a little studio in Carmel and wanted me to go public with them.

I told him I didn't think it was the right time for him to come back from the dead. He needed more rest. Plus Jim and Elvis had both been on Falanxia, getting their youth restored, when Zorga was killed. They were stranded there until I could get a few days off from work so I could hook up with Gnarde and lead the counter-revolutionary forces in taking back the homeworld. Considering how pissed my boss was about my car exploding with him in it, I didn't think I'd be getting my vacation request approved anytime soon.

March 17th:

My latest experiment in particle physics allowed me to not only prove the existence of the Top Quark, but I discovered that there's a secondary quark quantum linked to it in another space-time dimension. Following that discovery, I found that by proper manipulation of the spin velocity of the Top Quark, I could transmit messages to scientists in the alternate universe who had been watching for just that activity.

We talked for a while and agreed to exchange scientific data. They promised to tell me how to cure cancer if I told them how to get blueberry stains out of a linen tablecloth. But, apparently they don't have club soda in their universe and were so angry they terminated the conversation.

With nothing better to do, I decided to get to work on the latest issue of my web-zine...

And there you have it, folks. Just one tedious day after another. Hopefully next time I'll have something exciting to write about, like more stuff about television or muscular aches, because we all know that's what really makes life groovy.


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