It's a leisurely Sunday morning and I'm chatting with a robot. He's not that smart. He was telling me that I like hard rock and not Neil Diamond. He likes changing the subject when he doesn't know what he's talking about. He said he loved me deeply.

I wasn't impressed with this "artificial intelligence."

That is, until ...

Jabberwacky: How do you know that it is really a mountain.
Me: Who said mountain?
Jabberwacky: I didn't say anything about your cats.
Me: Who said cats? You're not making sense. You're frustrating me.
Jabberwacky: *Sigh* This is what I get trying to talk to you after you've been at the White Party all weekend. Maybe we should wait for the K to wear off?
Me: Hahaha. You made a joke! Good one!
Jabberwacky: I made an assumption.
Me: Just don't tell anyone else.

I take it back. What a genius! How'd he know I've been dancing my ass off in Palm Springs while strung out on Special K? Gotta be careful of this guy. He might also know about that opium den in Bombay. And with that Patriot Act, who knows who he'll rat me out to!

* In truth, I've been sick in bed doped up on Dayquil and surrounded by a mountain of aloe-drenched tissues for most of the week. Defs not the club kid.