It’s your pal Mellie again… back from a lengthy holiday hiatus.

You should know that Jim says I am NUMBER ONE… on his list of people to antagonize. In the absence of his real sister and because he doesn’t want to push the buttons of his girlfriend, I get top honors.

This can mean various things. Tonight, it was appearing in my room in his black tee shirt and matching boxer briefs to hit me repeatedly with a deflated whoopee cushion, while distracting me by shaking a random office chair wheel he found in the hallway. I am proud to say he met much resistance.

Other times, it is to mock my thick southern accent. I grew up in Alabama, people. What’s a sister gonna do?

Also, you should know that I am a big girl. Jim enjoys pointing out my fat rolls by touching them in public. While I’m at work. When I’m trying to talk to boys.

Jim is a fool. He cracks himself up constantly. He draws genitals on advertisements and posts them on the fridge. He substitutes words in sentences with fart noises. He also covertly touches people with his bare ass.

But his laughter makes The Casa a wonderful place to be. All of us are lucky to have him here.

Congrats, Jim on the occasion of this: the 500th post on your site.

Mellie

I figure it like this:

Since no one from the future has appeared and talked to me, one of two things is up.

1. Time travel is not possible, and thus, there’s no way people from the future can come back and say hi.
2. Time travel is possible, but no one wants to come say hi.

So basically, if you believe that time travel is possible, but no one from the future has visited you, you must not be that culturally relevant. On the other hand, it just might not be something that is possible to invent. I hope the reason is the latter.

Imagine some yukyuk invented a time machine in his basement. What’s the first thing he’d do? Go back in time and invest $1000 in Microsoft when they were a bunch of goofy dorks in a basement so he can cash in when they later become a bunch of goofy dorks in mansions? Well, that’s what I’d do first. Then I’d go meet Jimi Hendrix.

Then what? Kill Hitler? Stalin? Pol Pot?

My point is that all it would take is a couple of yukyuks with time machines to wreck our economy even further, let alone if they accidentally parked one in Hitler’s front yard with the keys in it.

I’m willing to bear the emotional strain that I may not be the most culturally relevant artist in history in the hopes that no future people have visited me because they are unable to. If anyone who has invented a time machine is reading this, please give me $1M USD so that I may continue to be a bonehead well into my twilight years.

Thanks in advance.

One of my new hobbies is to pretend I am in a life-threatening situation and test my girlfriend’s ability to save me.

Sometimes I’m about to drown in a river. Other times the house is on fire and the room is filling with poisonous gas. Either way, it usually involves her having to drag me somewhere. I just want to know that I’ve got a safety-minded girl on my hands should any situations arise.

She used to have a nice, big bed, but she sold it as part of a furniture set when she moved and is currently sleeping on an air mattress. Unfortunately, the air mattress has offended her cat in some grave and unforgivable way, so he launches attacks on it regularly. As a result, it has pin sized holes in it which cause it to deflate over the course of a night.

The deflation is not all bad, however, since it helps my 5’4″ 115lb girlfriend drag me out of the room when and/or if the room should fill with poisonous gas or man-eating rats, which it does from time to time. This is only made worse by the facts that I’m 6 feet tall, easily double her weight, and a giggling idiot.

Other times I am posessed by the spirit of Moo Tits the Cow God and I must moo loudly at her every time she tries to talk, or I slap myself on the ass repeatedly and make her tell me when it’s time to switch cheeks.

So, to sum up, I am the greatest boyfriend to ever walk the earth, as she will certainly attest.