Here's Your Change, Sir. By The Way, Do You Have Any Spare Change?

I checked my mailbox at work, and amongst the mail was a pack of gum - a 30-cent pack of Wrigley's.

"Where had THAT come from?" I wondered.

Was someone trying to tell me something? I know I drink a lot of coffee, but is my breath so bad that a coworked needs to send me hints by slipping gum into my mailbox? I was dying, let me tell you. Can you imagine how horrible someone's breath has to be that you'd just slip a cheap little pack of GUM in their mailbox unannounced, in hopes they'd be shamed into chewing it? It was mortifying!

I quickly scanned the other mailboxes, and it didn't look like anyone got any gum, but I didn't want to go digging through them all lest someone walk up.

"Whatcha doin', Davis?"

"Lookin' for gum." Like it was Valentine's Day in third grade all over again, and I'm the retarded kid rooting through everyone's stuff in the cloakroom, looking for candy.

"Can I play the tambourine in music class today, Ms. Spedlick?"

Ideally, it was possible that everyone else had checked their mailboxes already, so perhaps they had all also been given gum and had already taken it. But, the absence of gum in everyone else's box pointed to an inside job, although since we have no receptionist, there's a fair amount of messengers, delivery people, and so forth wandering the halls at times.

So I rambled on with all sorts of paranoid thoughts and then I checked the rest of my mail. There was some boring work stuff and yet another woodworking catalog. (I once ordered a gift for my father, which somehow put me on the list of "people who like woodworking." In fact, for awhile I received several angry letters requesting payment for my subscription to Woodroom Magazine, except, as I gently pointed out to them, I had neither wood nor a room to put it in, so why would I have ordered a magazine about exactly those things?)

Anyway, at the bottom of the mail was a postcard - no address, no postmark - clearly just plopped in there along with the mystery gum. It was a postcard from a church called "The Journey" inviting me to their series of sermons on "Forgiveness: The Real F Word."

Which is funny, because the everyone knows the real F word is "fuck." Christians sure are stupid! Like I'm going to their church after they cast aspersions on the freshness of my breath!

In other news, I was reading this bloggger's entry about circumcision, which sadly does not contain photographs. He is apparently in full support, and wishes to add pube-trimming as an additional necessary body modification, which is kind of funny. If gay porn is to be taken as a cultural barometer - and why shouldn't it be? - then the needle is definitely swinging back to the untrimmed pube category, so it's ironic that all the straight guys are now shaving their privates as to be as slick and smooth as a Playboy bunny's coin purse.

But as for circumcision, I don't understand why it's okay to remove a child's foreskin, but not their toes. Who uses the little ones, anyway? And they are constantly catching lint.

Additionally, if God made us in his own image, why does He also wish us to remove our foreskins? Did he mess up? Or is it like the tip jar at Starbucks - "Here's your change! Now give it back!"

That is all.