Well, in good news, Cartoon Network's web site finally put up a tribute to Chuck Jones. Good for them . . . the bastards.

In Nashville news, I highly recommend that you head over to the Nashville Scene's web site, where you can cast your ballot for the Best of Nashville Awards. You don't have to fill out everything (just 25 of the blanks or so), and I'll even help ya with a couple of votes: Best Performing Arts Group - MangyDog.com; Best Free Performance: Open Mic Comedy Night at the Cantina. Hell, all ya gotta do is copy and paste these suckers, and you're well on your way, and who knows? Maybe we'll be famous yet . . . or at least sell a coupla more shirts.

I had a good stand-up gig in Clarksville last night . . . "good" meaning I got a little bit o' money. It was a healthy-sized crowd, but let's just say that they need to work on the comedy etiquette (Tip One: When a comedian's on stage, listen to the comedian and quit runnin' yer fuckin' yap. The Romans called it "respect.") Be looking for some possible clips from the show up at the site later on over the weekend.

Ah well, on to bigger and brighter things . . . for example, I'm sick! Ah yes, Late Winter/Early Spring always brings about the promise of disease, and as always, I'm doing my part to lead the way. You know that feeling you get in your throat when your sick, like you've swallowed a Buick and it's gotten stuck? That's what I'm feelin'.

Chad's pretty sick as well . . . he's been hallucinating all week. Monday he was the Lizard King, Tuesday he was Frodo, now he's missing. Ah well, that Chad, he's irrepressible.

Before I continue this column, I'm going to have enough NyQuil to make me loopy. I'll be right back.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA, that's good, that's real good . . . where was I? OH, yeah . . .Flu sweet flu . . . nothing makes me happier than waking up and feeling all of my orafices leaking. You could say it's what I live for. I've always enjoyed it, from my earliest days . . . I would prick myself with needles, laughing gleefully, yelling "OOZE!" at the top of my lungs, spinning around and around, splashing blood like a water sprinkler. Then, I'd pass out, and my Mom would run outside, screaming with terror. I can still remember drifting in and out of consciousness, her terrified shrieks piercing the air as she rushed me to the hospital before I died.

Ah, memories. (Hey, what's in these parentheses? NyQuil! WOO!)

So, if you're feeling a little pukey right now, or you could use a cup o' soup to cheer ya up, or you want to jump off a building just to end the horrible, horrible pain, just remember: Someday, you'll look back and say, "Hey, thanks, Leaking Orafices . . . thanks." Then your leaking orafices will look back at you and say, "Hey, don't look at us, dude!" HA! Wouldn't that be fuckin' FREAKY, man? Ah, shit . . . that's crazy. Hey, why don't people take NyQuil ALL the time, man? I mean, this shit works wonders . . . everything's so clear . . . the colors . . . the sounds . . . ooooo, SHINY . . . look, in the distance, the closing tagline . . .

This is the MangyDog, over and out.