Let's bid adieu to 2020 with a heartwarming tale of sitting on a small-town jury. Did you know adieu means "to God"? So when we bid adieu to 2020, we're really saying, "To God with 2020," when maybe what we really mean to say is "To hell with 2020." Which would be to bid "en enfer" to 2020. But if we said that no one would know what we were talking about except the French, and who really cares about them? I mean, I like their baguettes and some of their cheeses, but if I'm being honest, I can live without the rest of it. All that Frenchness over there. And if you think about it, the hard outer part of a baguette is pretty rough on the gums and hard palate, so that doesn't leave much to recommend France or the French. Okay. Rural juror. Here it is. Oh, and near the end I say, "I had to try to laugh," when what I meant to say was I had to try NOT to laugh. Selah.

This one is about the demise of the Charles Bukowski forum, but then for some reason about halfway through I start talking about old-time independent record stores. Places like Three Acre Wood and Northern Lights in St. Paul, and Oarfolkjokeopus in Minneapolis. You might also hear me mention, if you listen real closely, the Prince "Sign "O" The Times" box set, jackassery, Alaska, telling the internet you're eating a hamburger, Instant Karma!, The Beatles, KISS, freaks, riding the bus, and accidental or coincidental fate.

It's me again, and it's high time we talked about names again, not to mention technical tomfoolery, what defines us, surviving a plane crash, employment discrimination, being an expert procrastinator, clanging, blabbing, guacamole, silence, otherness, parmesan cheese, the President of the Apes, diapers, conformity-by-necessity, outsiders, starting a podcasting school, palindromes, the world's laziest way to name a baby, fancy cakes, and divinely inspired ideas and concepts.