If I were right, the night that passed before I ate that great helping of hamburger helper without the hamburger is larger than the day when my parents may or may not have given their approval towards weening hours words or dirges meant for a respective lot coddling each sodden ploy to get more play at the station. I mean, they are their grandchildren, mistaken as the aging coots could seem. Making them sleep, these young men or women, the life blood of linen sheets, pillows and hours that keep all those little heads at the computer screen is easier once teases like video killing the radio star, far reaches into one part music, two parts shenanigans and three parts chat all convert that technological convert into a precept of marketing madness. But not really... I would imagine it is confusing raising a child, considering all the wild diversion a coercive dip into fun and how it turns Monday school into a droll afterthought on Sunday's dossier. And I just bought a wireless guitar controller for my wireless, infrared, blue tooth stroller. The wife would be pi without the repeating decimal this time, I think.