I just found out that one of my favorite reporters, Michael Puente (aka "Miguelino," "Mexican Jumping Bean," "Latin Lothario," "Sexy Mothafucka," etc.) is flying the coop and going to the Daily Herald. Yes, I know it's a fantastic opportunity for him, and he deserves a fantastic opportunity. But still, it makes me sad.

Rats.

Nothing like getting your taxes done on freaking April Fool's Day, right!?!? Fuck. Not only that, but I have to get up at, like 7 a.m. (yeah, yeah, yeah, I know -- cry me a river. But you don't underSTAAAAAAAAANNNND ...) to drive ALL the way down to Fair Oaks, which is just south of Deliverance Country, or where I spent last Friday, to have them done. Not only THAT, but I have to take MOTHER with me, and she will no doubt be awake and rarin' to bitch about all the crap I have in my backseat. At 7 in the morning. Let the tears commence. My accountant's fabulously excellent, though; I met her and her husband when I covered a gun show they held, like, going on five years ago (they host guns shows on the side), and they liked the story I wrote about them. Allegedly, that story still hangs in some gun shops in Lake, Porter, and Jasper Counties, and how many people do you know that can say that, huh!?!? That's what I thought.

Speaking of covering good stuff, can I just tell you again that JB is a rotten bastard and I hope he has a hangover every freakin' day as he and his girlfriend are boozin' it up in DUBLIN THIS WEEK!?!?!? (Yeah, that would be Ireland, not Ohio.)

My God, how am I ever supposed to lose 50 pounds in a month if the damn Club Chalupas won't go away? They're soooo goooood.

Nothing like ending the week/starting a new one than having a reader e-mail and point out that I fucked up their schools because I misread the information that was sent to me. That's something you just never want to hear. Ever.