The United baggage website says they have not located my bag, nor do they have the slightest idea where it is, when it might be found, when it might be delivered, if it contains state secrets, whether it is being waterboarded in the Windowless Room at O'Hare or, for that matter, anything. I have talked to more people in India than Hillary Clinton, including at least one exchange that came straight out of My Fair Lady:
"Your new report number is 'G,' as in 'Jillian...' "
" 'G' as in "Gilliam...'"
"No sir! 'G' as in 'Jillian...'"
"Oh, 'J' as in 'Juice?"
"Yes! Yes! 'G' as in 'Goose!'
"And once again, where does it rain?"
"On the plain! On the plain!"
I frankly don't know how long my underwear can hold out. Sure, the Boy King has banned waterboarding, but Chicago is only marginally a part of the United States, and I know if that thug Daley gets involved it's gonna be a stripped extension cord straight to the 'nads.
I know that my underwear takes strength from the great national outpouring of support, and, yes, even love since this crisis began. Thank you all...