A tight snap of my beloved wife through the wire early this morning... in our complex rules of engagement, slinging her Kalashnikov on her right shoulder with bayonet fixed is considered an escalation in threat signaling akin to brandishing, but she's still talking to me, so everything's cool.

She's swallowed the red pill and fallen down the rabbit hole of our society's poisoned food, imposing a strict organic diet devoid of GMOs, glyphosate residue, most meats, and just about everything else I consider delicious. Wheat is out. Dairy is out. If I eat a cheeseburger from now on it will be furtively and under cover of night, or I get the bayonet. I might still get to eat raw fish. Arranging the secret consumption of a pepperoni pizza will involve the danger and complexity of The Italian Job.

There should be no reason to leave the house today; all business shall be conducted exclusively by phone and internet from the couch, which is a pretentious way of declaring a state of CouchLock. Shame me. I care.