It was a sunny, bright morning -- sunny, bright, and morning only to step away from that god-awful old cliché line of "It was a dark and stormy night…". Anyways, it was a sunny, bright morning, and I'd just gotten up and put on my pink bunny slippers with the little carrot tongues when the phone rang. It was Bob.

"Kevin? This is Bob."

"Bob? This isn't Kevin."

"The purple people eaters are eating pizza at Machiavelli's again! HELP!" The phone clicked as Bob hung up.

I sighed as I hung up the phone, scratching my balding head as I did so. Why this guy Bob should think my name was Kevin, when it was clearly John -- I glanced down at my embroidered pajamas just to make sure I wasn't imagining things... yes. They said "John" in purple silk thread -- was completely beyond me. I liked my pajamas, all warm and comfy. And blue. Really blue.

I switched on my computer and stumbled to the kitchen to make my morning cup of coffee. Now. Coffee is a strange word. Most people believe it to be an Italian word, but they're completely wrong there. The Italian word for coffee is caffé . However, the Italians merely stole this word from the Turkish kahve which came from the Arabic word qahwah. What this had to do with my morning rituals, I have no clue.

Turning on the coffeepot, I yawned, stretching out my arms as I did so. Unfortunately, my hand connected with a rather annoying hanging potted plant my mother gave me last Christmas, causing dirt to dump all over my pajamas and slippers. The bunnies looked as if they’d just finished digging a burrow. While this wasn’t a daily occurrence, it was nonetheless expected, and I wasn’t any more surprised when the whole plant, pot and all, came crashing down to the floor. Luckily, I’d just stepped away while I was brushing dirt off of me.

Needless to say, I didn’t get to drink my coffee until late that day. Now, when I say late, I don’t mean late as in evening, but late as in later than I normally drink my coffee. Just so you know.

Carry on.

As you’ll remember, I had activated my computer before making my way to the kitchen.

By this time, it had managed to load all its needed components safely, and was quietly, if somewhat disdainfully, flashing my screensaver at me, as if to say “Can we get on with this, please?” The thing reminded me of my mother just before she was off to the hairdresser’s.

Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against my mother… my computer just acts a lot like her.

I flipped on the radio.

“… eaters at Machiavelli’s again. Of course, this is a usual thing nowadays. So, all should be advised to stay inside and…”

I turned the radio off.

Nothing important, as usual.

My computer was making odd clicking noises, so I clicked the mouse button. The left one, of course, and the screen came alive…