The Malaka, and I Don't Mean Oprah, I Mean Adrastos

Hoping to cash in on the Congo bump of readership that I'm currently enjoying, my blogging nemesis Adrastos has the nerve to make fun of my unfortunate "condition." That was uncalled for and it hurts...not as bad as the physical pain of getting pregnant by Oprah's largeness, but Adrastos' taunts hurt more on an emotion level. Adrastos and I share many things: we both have a Greek ancestry, lovely wives, a musical past, a fondness for manly drinks, my green shoes, and cannibalism. But unlike Adrastos, I will never love selling tile with pictures of cats on it to tourists from Utah where they don't drink Sazeracs, and I'll never make fun of pregnant men, unless they have a uterus like Thomas Beatie. I will also never enjoy serving nutria to guests during a Muses pre-party.

ADRASTOS THE MALAKA: notice the crappy beads and the St. Louis Cardinals' hat. Is that just a coincidence? Or maybe it was his nutria breath that put off the lovely Muses bead throwers. By the way, Malaka is a Greek word that means beating on Peter, or something like that.