Alane is online shopping for real beds for the boys -- all this time we've had them sleeping on a hand-me-down futon (they don't mind; they sleep like a puppy litter). They were just on a kid-furniture site that was displaying a crib, which prompted Mojo to say, "Let's get a crypt."

Yeah, let's. We can hide in there and make juice. Though I'm not sure my juicing experience will be as euphoric as Vito's. He makes mango-mashing seemed a sexual experience... Which, oddly enough, I can understand: years ago, on a business trip to Boston, I got in a cab for the airport and noticed that the driver had two crates of mangoes in the front seat.

"Wow," I said. "You like mangoes!"

He said he did and offered me one. I was a little loopy because I'd just been in a bar drinking with some office-mates, so I said yes. I carried that thing through airport, onto my flight, and on the car ride home -- all the time holding it gently, cupping it in my palm... caressing it gently. In my half-in-the-bag state, I almost pictured...

But hey, this was something I could've already known -- mangoes are already like breasts in that you really can't access them without making a mess out of something. Maybe Vito's juicer is the right approach.

And by the way: who the hell gets to wake up at 10:23, anwyay? As-Seen-On-TV my ass!