Turning 53...

...and watching the years grind out of this bloody extruder called Life is like watching an incipiently rickety assembly line struggling to make quota even though automation will someday in the near future make the process obsolete. Yep, at 9:50 tonight, your prehistoric porcine political pundit who's addicted to alliteration turns 53.

Still nothing on the job front, even though I'm trying like a one-nut on his honeymoon to even get an interview even as the wolves are pissing all over the perimeter of Casa Del Puerco. I know I mercilessly hit you all up for donations in a public plea in the month before Christmas but if you have a few bucks to spare, Mrs. JP, Popeye the cat and I would immensely appreciate any help in the form of a birthday gift before February 1st rolls around. As always, if you haven't already received a copy yet, I'll even throw in complimentary file attachments of both my novels on Kindle (The Toy Cop, my hostage negotiation thriller, is getting an overhaul before I submit it to a CreateSpace/Penguin-Putnam contest later this month).