. . .

I'm not

I'm not writing this message because I hate my boss.

I'm not writing this message because I hate my job.

Im not writing this message to show how "cool" and "hip" and "in" I am. (Not that anyone here does, I hope, but I wanted to say it.)

I'm not writing this message to blow off steam in any way.

I'm not writing this message because a large tuna appeared out of nowhere, bowed, and cut itself up for use in sushi, although that would be a good reason to write a message, and with the tuna being that fresh, would probably taste delicious, depending on the quality of the fish. I'd need rice, though, unless I felt like sashimi instead.

I'm not writing this message just because I felt like it. Well, I am, but I'm denying it in order to stretch this out longer.

I'm not writing this message to make contact with aliens. What would be the point? They're already watching everything I do.

I'm not writing this message in order to use some of my catch phrases, although some have probably already crept their way in. In fact, I'll use a few more right about now: "Well, I lie. I do that a lot." "How could you do this to me? Sniff, sniff." "Bad. Bad Alloni. No biscuit."

I'm not writing this message. I'm typing it. But disregarding that.

I'm not writing (typing!) this message to make you think. You already think too much. Relax and let the soothing words pass over and around you. There, wasn't that fun? You're getting sleepy. Very sleepy.

I'm not writing this message to make money as some sort of pyramid scheme. There are already too many of those out there. However, if you feel you MUST send me money, email me for further information on where to send it.

I'm not writing this message to tell you about the latest computer virus, like the one that reformats your brain, takes over your body, and has sex with your wife. Or husband. Or poodle, I really don't care about your alternate lifestyle. Well, I do care if it involves poodles. Anything at all involving poodles is just wrong.

I'm not writing this message as part of a tragic plea for attention. If that were the case, I would either be threatening suicide, homicide, or marriage.

I'm not writing this message to ask about marriage. The only way I could be in a position to marry anyone right now is if I drugged them, dragged them to Vegas, and found a place that didn't necessarily require both participants to be conscious. Not that I would want to, I'm just indulging in metaphor. I think that's a metaphor.

I am, in fact, writing this message because it's been a while since I sent an email to you, so I figured it was about time.

Thank you for your cooperation. You all get an extra hour of life.