Classic over-zest reminds me why I prefer strippers!

Having been recently savaged by several diminutive Rooks for being unacceptably pithy in relation to the spicy sauce keeping company a fish taco, I thought it a good time to remind everyone that proper tools make a noticeable difference in performance.

If you want me to produce zest on command, don’t hand me a damn microplane grater when the situation clearly calls for at least a dedicated hand zester, if not a full-on stripper! Graters, friends, tend to overgrate; it’s what they do. Don’t blame me for giant piles of bitter pith when you lay out the wrong equipment in front of me!

Home Additions!

What you want matters not under my roof!

In order to get Hogan and me farther away from them, my parents are busy digging in, hammering on, and swearing about the soon-to-be finished basement. Actually, my father has few practical skills, so this project, in truth, is a “pay someone else and then pretend you are a foreman” project.

To show my disgust at them for mindlessly blowing several days worth of the tuition money necessary to send me to a private university in a warm weather locale in the year 2026, I’ve just completed my own renovation project. This new addition to my bedroom allows me complete privacy, enhanced protection from Hogan’s dangerous, unpredictable tail wag, and enough interior soundproofing for plausible deniability in the event that someone calls me to go somewhere or to do something that doesn’t perfectly synchronize with my internal toddler clock.