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Boris is here to tell about lunch.

For lunch, Boris having sandwich of pickles, bologna, creamcheese, olives, cabbage and Russian bologna. Louis say Russian bologna make you grow tits out of asscrack, but that is just Louis charming way of speak. Russian bologna is very good and very bologna. Makes you grow up big and brave, like monster. So good for you it is hard to find in stores, because stores want to keep all of it for themself.

Boris is eating sandwich for lunch while playing with his new thing, which is binogulars. Ever since Boris get these, is fun. Looking out window is like funny television with no sounds. There is exciting show about fighting neighbors out one window, Boris watch this show when bored. Is funny show about old man eating soup out other window, always same and always funny when he is dropping soup and is old. But best show is out bathroom window, where neighbor is watching Spices channel all times.

Louis think Boris use binogulars too much, he bang on door for Boris to get out of bathroom so Louis does not die from not crapping. Boris yell "You cannot come in! Boris is playing with his thing!" which make Louis swear lots and go to next-door bathroom. Louis can do this because next-door lock is broken from Louis kicking door last week, when him have bad to crap and Boris is seeing Sorority Sweethearts at same time.

Boris think best show would be to have binogulars in old man eating soup apartment, because from there Boris could see show of Louis kicking in door to crap while next door neighbors is eating dinners. And also, Boris could have soup to eat with Louis kicking show, very good idea. Two good things at one time, is fun. And Boris like soup, especially Russian Pringle soup which is Boris special crunchy recipe.

So like Boris say, is eating lunch and looking at binogulars. What a way to spend the time after noons. Then, who knows it? Exciting thing happen! Is like lucky lotto day for Boris to see exciting thing through binogulars. Boris looking at dog eating roasted beef sandwich on street when oh no, Man is hit by car. Boris thinks this is holy shit. There goes Man in suit stepping in street, and there goes car running over him like he is street. Such things Boris has never seen. Exciting, yes, but of course sad too. Because when Boris see such things he squeeze sandwich in excited way, and sandwich insides go on Boris pants.

This might seem funny part of Boris story, but is serious. Why is serious? Answer is Boris wearing favorite pants for binogular time. Yes yes, not smart plan for Boris at dressing time. But seem like good idea when Boris not wearing pants and favorite pants are waiting. Hard for Boris to argue then.

Favorite Boris pants is not like normal pants. Is nice. Is also purple like big McDonalds monster, but with stripes like monster does not have. So Boris is sad to think of pickles on pants. Sad math is pickles plus creamcheese equals goodbye favorite Boris pants. Such things always leave mark forever like bird wipes ass on Boris pants. And Boris not wanting to give such laughs to pants-lookers.

Now Boris must pick new pants to be favorite. Is busy life, no? But is O.K. Secret is Boris like rat race of life. Not to worry, when race is too exciting Boris take nap. Nap make Boris wake up happy, except on bus, when Boris wake up in strange town. But strange town is good for to make friends and find binogulars, so is O.K.

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Surprise, I got my name back. Occasionally I jump the gun and make a situation look a lot bleaker than it is. But I did seriously think Felchyana would take away my very name. As for my new name, "Rokwell T. Stonewall" is already owned by a nationally-syndicated columnist. No shortage of legal hassle trying to write a commune column without being sued for damage to reputation.

Felchyana, on the other hand, was more agreeable than certain bastards named Rok Stonewall. She was only holding out for more money, so I agreed to give it to her—after all, money is temporary. A name like Rok Finger only comes along once in a lifetime. Rok Stonewall, a thousand times in a lifetime. Completely useless name. Besides, I negotiated with Felchyana so she could have my middle name, Teddasaurus, while I retain the right to use the initial. Which is all I ever wanted in the first place.

Now that my divorce is finalized with Ms. Teddasaurus, you'd better believe I'm lining up all my ducks for the wedding of the century! Well, I suppose that may be overstating things. It's an early century, after all. I would hate for the great-great-grandson of Prince to be forced to marry the Queen of Neptune, in order to keep us from going to interplanetary war. Then Rok Finger's proclamation of 2005 would look quite foolish to the future potential Neptunian slaves.

I have even bought the material to make a tuxedo—most rental places don't make them in my size, of course, and I'm sick of wearing doll clothes to my own weddings. Besides, three more weddings and the thing will have practically paid for itself. The pattern I'm using is based on a formal dress affair suit for a lawn jockey, made by an insane woman at the local asylum. But for all her mental instability, she's a hell of a pattern maker.

We have had trouble deciding, Ginger and I, where exactly to hold the wedding. At first, I thought we might hold it at the commune offices—these people are, after all, the closest thing I have to friends. Which is quite depressing. But Ginger convinced me there was no way in hell she would get married with the "freaks [I] work with staring at us." She made a good point. Now we're trying to decide on a church wedding or a city hall sort of affair. We haven't ruled out driving to Vegas either. What a decision! If only something combined the sanctity of a church wedding, the esteem of a judge-presided matrimony, and a topless chorus line. But then there would be lines around the block, no doubt.

Camembert suggested we get married right here, in the humble Finger abode's backyard. I didn't hear him because I've been ignoring him since he ate the last of my breakfast cereal, Sugar Shorties. But Ginger seemed to think it was a good idea. Now I only have to figure a way to hold the ceremony here and still not invite Camembert. That may seem extreme, considering the wedding is at least a month away, but I'm known for holding insensible grudges for long periods.

To tell the truth, I'm actually a bit nervous about the whole thing. I was never nervous in all my previous marriages, so maybe that means I feel Ginger Baker is truly the girl for me. Or maybe I've developed a sixth sense and I am feeling the presence of the dead all around me. But Ginger didn't think that notion was as romantic as the first, so I'm sticking with the "one true girl" thing. What a woman!

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