My Friends Are Weird -

But you knew that already. Carolyn was being really weird about me missing all that work, but then she bought me a hilarious and and very helpful shirt (you'll have to go to her blog and see it). Meanwhile, I think Elliot's been leaving messages on my machine in odd voices, pretending to be everyone from Schmendrick the Magician to the Marquis de Carabas - and no, Stabler, I do not owe you a Very Big Favor.
However, the weirdest of all is, of course, Munch, who, get this, is now hyperexcited about two things neither of which he will shut up about unless he's talking about the other.
The first is the death of Steve Irwin, who he's convinced was a victim of a network of aliens working with non-mammalian species, and getting rid of their chief tormentor was a sign of good faith. That's so wrong I can't even begin to start at which end the wrong begins.
The second, slightly less twisted thing is the recovery of those Munch paintings. It wouldn't be so bad, but beleive it or not, he wants to DRIVE to Europe to see them. I said that was right out. He's got some harebrained scheme involving a Turkish freighter, but if the last time he tried that is any indication, there's no way this is even remotely safe. I need to go look up the name of those fish that swim up your urethra, just to be sure; it's the only way to deter him. He won't go near the ocean for weeks after remembering those suckers. Sure, he'll only sponge-bathe, too, but I can stand down-wind from him.