Heat Fantasy

They say that water boils at 212 degrees Fahrenheit. Plotnik knows for a fact that at approximately 211 degrees, which is how hot Mummy P.'s house feels this morning, your skin does not detach itself from your bones. Almost, but not quite.

It's Halloween. Plot and Duck will be back in S.P. tonight on time for Trick-or-Treaters, and Plotnik has decided that his costume will be something involving sweat.

The only time Plot and Duck ever go to the movies is when they take Mummy P. They always pick the wrong movie, and yesterday continued the trend. They saw "The Town" with Ben Affleck and Chris Cooper and every old Irish mobster character actor in the world. It was pretty darned entertaining, but Plot can never stop asking himself, while cars are careening all over the screen and a hundred cops are battling four robbers, all firing away indiscriminately with automatic rifles, why nobody can ever seem to hit anybody else? Also, how can you acquire a car that can roll over, smash into buildings, buses and highway pylons, then fall into the ocean off a cliff, and still drive right out unmarked and in perfect running condition?

And why would an Irish mobster drink Bud Lite?

And how did the young woman, who had been taken hostage in the bank, and seen the tattoo on the back of one of the robber's neck, not recognize that tattoo when she saw the guy again the next day?

And why does the preview for Due Date with Robert Downey Jr. and Zack Galwhateverakis look SO funny?

Another ball game today. 2-1 Brain Deads. The Duck is a convert, if you can believe that. She wants to see every inning and agonizes over every pitch. The litlle Trick or Treaters are not gonna see much of D.D. GiantFan this evening until the game is over, and if the Giants lose the kids are getting razor blades in their apples. Just kidding.

GOD it's hot in here.