Dry Tortugas only played an indirect role on the Wagon this week, but it sure is funny to say out loud. Go ahead and try it. You’ll laugh, I promise. Don’t worry, I’ll wait…there–don’t you feel better? Refreshed?

On to blogging.

First, there was Warren, our trusty LA guest-blogger, who really should stop thinking about his wife as his mother. I don’t care how good looking she is–that’s wrong. In all seriousness, Warren, someone really should be paying you to write things this good. It just isn’t going to be us.

Speaking of guests, it felt as if some of our contributors decided this week to become them. Christopher popped in briefly, showing his face with a post complaining about having to leave his apartment with his child, and another wondering why the Times hates text messaging when he loves it so much (it allows him to ignore his wife and child simultaneously).

Matt went off somewhere tropical, returned to New York City, and was greeted by his wife like a traveling salesman. Maybe he should move to Sweden where he can wear an Ikea-electronic-baby Bjorn-while-hunting-and-penning-food stories. That might make him feel like a man.

And Nathan? It’s all lesbians, dick injuries, and DRY TORTUGAS!!!!!. Write when you learn how, brother.

Typical week for me, though–child molestation paranoia, work avoidance, bulletproof babies, and fine art.

See you on Monday, folks.