Ok, Ok, I know.

You come here every Saturday looking for signs and portents; seeking a few sparkling drops of refreshing truth in the dusty wasteland of miniaturized, Cola sponsored duplicity.

And what do you find this week? Nothing. Nada. Zip.

You are abandoned. Bereft. Forgotten.

Sorry.

It's not a good week to go looking to me for moral leadership or incisive insight (because, I know you do.) No sir. It's a short week and I've got Important People coming to see me. Not only that, but I'm waiting for the next installment of generation "L" to scream onto the scene. Waiting for a baby to be born is not, for those of you in any doubt, conducive to creative thought.

So, since everyone else seems to resort to cookery when caught, pants down and monkey in hand, without a column, I'll do the same.

How to cook a Lictor Column.

Take this space, and remove all the above text.

Mix in an amusing and clever column involving Beluga whales and a simian plot to replace all operators of Cotton Candy machines with shaved capuchin monkeys.

Stir liberally (but not Liberally, since I like to avoid obvious political bias.)

Finally place in a large cooking pot and bury somewhere in Wyoming.

In about three thousand years there'll probably be someone around who find this crap amusing.

Probably a shaved cotton candy vendor. Oh and for those of you concerned with "column length," allow me to make the following point. It really isn't how long the column is, honestly.

Look at this one. It's tiny, and yet I'd be willing to bet not one reader would like it some much as an inch longer.

See? Told you.