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I don’t know who looks stupider on The World’s Most Smartingest Modelers—the models (they all come off as stupid but some are both stupid and oddly arrogant), the hosts, or me for suffering through it whilst trying to find the next airing of the Rock of Love Reunion.

Okay, it’s on mute. Heavenly heavenly silence.

I’ll do my nails instead. That’ll kill less brain cells.

The construction continues unabated in front of our building. Strangely enough about ten times a day the whole lot of workers congregate in one of the many of trenches they’ve created, shuffle their feet, scratch their heads and point worriedly at various sections.

It’s all a little disconcerting, really. I have no idea what can cause such consternation. But we do our best, my boss and I, to figure it out. Or at least have a good laugh. So we sit up front and narrate their conversations.

“What’s that funny smell, Earl?” “Dunno.” “Was that supposed to contain raw sewage?” “Sure wasn’t, Bob.” “Should we call someone about the glowing?” “It’ll go away eventually.” “Have we created a new life form. And who will be its mommy?”

Hopefully they’ll be done soon and we can go back to narrating the conversations of the guys who stumble out of the liquor store and share a 40 or two across the street. They’re more funner.