. . . a bank of starving Komodo dragons marched on City Hall yesterday afternoon, agitating for the right to devour people who sleep outside. They were dispursed by several wendigo working as spokesmen for the Secret Police, who longsufferingly informed them that they already had that right and simply hadn't noticed until now.

Mondays are banned, Wednesday is cancelled, and due to a scheduling error Friday is now the first day of the week.

And for those who work at 9-to-5 jobs, all paperwork must now be submitted after work by 11:30. Failure to comply will be punished by finger removal. That's going to be a bit tricky, but luckily I never physically leave my booth and am therefore exempt.

And now, the weather.

In other news, the rare snaketiger migration will pass down 666th Street this year. Try to avoid getting bitten, everyone.

According to Intern Dana or her double, the hooded figures we don't look at seem to be having a barbeque in the dog park we do not approach. This is impossible to verify, since we do not approach or notice them, but I think we can trust possibly-Dana.

A horde of small purple insects blotted out the moon last night for the fifth night in a row. Their wings made a noise that sounded just like a Rolling Stones album. Dear, beautiful perfect Carlos and his team are trying to discover why the bugs chose the Stones, but results so far are inconclusive.

That's it for our show, beloved listeners. Goodnight, dear listeners. Goodnight.

(Today's proverb: I was not born. I will not die. And yet I still want birthday cake. What to do.)