Uh oh. It's past 3 a.m. again. This is not good at all. Good night . . .

It's funny that I can make my karma go up just by saying anything at all.

It's a quiet night in East Dotsford. A few of the neighborhood Spots are barking, and of course there's the twittering of the Dotingales.

The Dottish ambassador to Marlboro Country has resigned after only six months on the job. News reports say he is having trouble breathing.

Special report on Radio Dotland this morning: "Is Dot Vader the Dark Dot of Death?" What an old question! Every year they recycle this!

My friends are very quiet people, it seems. That's OK, it's better to be quiet than to talk all the time.

It's Saturday! I escaped being eaten by the Dark Dot of Death! Whew!

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! Friday the 13th! The Dark Dot of Death will destroy us all! Run for your lives! It's coming!

Let's see, after two days I've got four friends here, including Plurk Buddy, and I need 20,000 friends. Hmm ... well, it may take some time.

Oh! I'm approaching 500 Twitter followers! Oh! Oh! Maybe this week, even! (Plurk is ... uh ... running a little behind that.)