Somewhere in the Seattle in my head.

West Seattle comprises many streets, most of them winding. Among these are 'Simon' and 'Belmont'. The Internet admits to no such intersection, but in my mind, the corner of Simon and Belmont is sandwiched between The Point and Yellow Submarine. Its people eat hearts and hunt monsters. Its houses constantly play chip-tunes, and will serve you roast ham if you whip them in the right spots. Even shiny vampires avoid that place.

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I put it to you:

What is wrong with moustaches? Eh?

For Every Problem, a Solution (4)

God as depicted throughout the ages. No Alanis Morissette, and, no, that isn't ironic.

My room is a mess, my painting unfinished.

...and I still haven't found a good alternative to my scanner with its missing power-cord. Almost finished with this painting, though. I just need to put in a bus seat in front of and behind the passenger. Incidentally, the Seattle Metro buses have the ugliest upholstery I can remember seeing, and I spent five years working at a used furniture store.

Pointless Man

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