feed your head, but not freaky old book germs, my son.

He loves this, the Finn. Can't get enough of it. He's all, again! Again!

Also, today at Third Place Books Finn grabbed an old used book with a picture of a dog on the front, and licked the front of it. Licked it with the biggest, fattest, most robust lick from bottom to top. The fucking Platonic ideal of a lick. It was swift and horrible and perfect. I was like, "This dog's name is Rascal" and quick as lightning he was like, AAARRRLLLLLMMM.

A dog licked him once, see, and now he's inverted it, and he shouts it out all the time, "lick a dog" and now he's done it. I'm just glad it was a freaky old spectacle of germ-mongering and not the kind of carnage it could have been had it been an actual dog in the wrong mood. We have got to school this young superfreak. I live in a constant slow-motion supernova of love for him. Booooooooooooooooooooooooom. It was one of the funniest things I've ever seen.

He was romancing the little ladies at Third Place books, too. He met a little lass named Caroline, ten days his senior, and he fell hard. When they parted ways, he said "Goodbye, girl" just like he was a little British pop star from the sixties. She was too late to witness the book-licking or she would have been putty in his hands. The Noisy Little Playboy has a most awesome move in his back pocket.