What was I thinking, thinking I could actually go through with the autolobotomy I mentioned last night after shamefully viewing an episode of the horror that is The Swan? What am I? Loco? Cuckoo? Psycho? I don't need a lobotomy ... I need my head examined! What the fork? Take my knife ... please!

Any thoughts I had about performing a lobotomy on myself quickly ground to a noisy halt when, standing in kitchen with the tools of the trade — a steak knife, mellon-baller, corkscrew, and sewing kit — I realized the following:

I haven't cut steak in 25 years. I never ball my melons. I mangle corks. I can't even thread a needle let alone sew.

It's a good thing I realized that in my hands, these tools would be weapons. And I realized, sadly, that without that portion of my brain responsible for memory, I wouldn't have remembered that I have this world-famous website to update, and it would go the way of the dodo.

I would've been a dodo to go through with the lobotomy. You would have called me "Jodo". And I just wouldn't be able to stand it. Or understand it. 'Cause I wouldn't have remembered my own name anyway.

Phew!