I Love the Nightlife. I've Got to Boogie!

Jazz over at Running Scared had too much time on his hands last week. I can always tell. He issues demands. Nothing is more hilarious than hearing the positively scandalous things other people say about us, so he demanded Poor Impulse Control get trackback. Mamie, who fixes every broken thing at PIC but me, added this trackback whatsis, which came with comments. Not only can we at PIC hear you stage whispering from the other side of the net, now we can also hear you at close range, where we can tap you on the shoulder and remind you we're, um, related. Or married to you. In Arkansas. At least.

Gossips! Start your engines!

Sadly, gossip is not enough to feed the Hungry-Hungry-Hippo-like imagination starved for little white lies and outright fabrications. When I say Jazz had too much time on his hands, I mean this kind of free time usually comes with an ankle bracelet. He issued a second demand, and it's gut-busting genius.

Political blogs now have tip lines. You can, you witness you, tip off your favorite blogger to history in the making. Yeah, yeah, that's great if you care about facts. Or history. Or other people, I suppose. Jazz proposes readers send in tips and total fibs - ABOUT ME! What outrageous, fiendish and uproarious thing have you seen me doing? What fine-inducing mayhem am I currently concocting? WHERE THE HELL AM I? Use the email address under that fine portrait of Grandma's faux fur at the top of this page and lie, lie, lie about me - especially if we've never laid eyes on one another! Tip off us Poor Impulsives with bold fish tales and we'll publish whatever makes us spit coffee at our monitors.