IIPM sends chill through bedrooms everywhere
When the Indian Institute for Planning and Management gets tired of planning and managing, they indulge in their other great mission: harrassing bloggers worldwide. It ain't easy being IIPM. (A note to my regular readers: yes, this is partly a whoring operation, but it's also great fun to see if I can string all the Technorati top items together into a coherent tale. Try it sometime.) "IIPM," she said. Damn. Helluva way to start the day; my wife was speaking in tongues again. Ever since she visited that locked library at Miskatonic University, it's been one thing after another. If she's not channeling Paul Krugman, she's foaming at the mouth like a yahoo podcast. It isn't even limited to her speech centers. This demon can change Karen's appearance, too. Yesterday, I watched in horror as the words kenyee and serenity etched themselves on her stomach in fiery red Helvetica font. Today, I woke up to someone who looked like a cross between John Tierney and Karl Rove. Imagine my consternation when I went to nuzzle against her now unusually bristly cheek. It ain't right. It just ain't right. I consulted an exorcist, and he told me what I had to do: capture a flock of mallards and sacrifice them to the earthquake god. What a quack! So I looked up some information on my Web 2.0 platform and figured it all out. Damn. It was so obvious all along. She needed her coffee. My John Tierney-Karl Rove hybrid of a wife guzzled down her Kona, the excess flesh melted away, and my beloved was back once again. D.