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I know a guy who has animal magnetism. Women can’t keep their hands off of him. I don’t have animal magnetism, but I do have something almost as good. I have vegetable magnetism.

Every year, 98% of the atoms in your body are replaced. Your body is a big bio-organismization (pronounced bi·oh·AWR·guh·niz·uhm·i·ZAY·tion), and, as its CEO, you must know how and when to ruthlessly sack large numbers of your constituent atoms (biochemical associates). The purpose of this seminar, therefore, is to give you the tools you’ll need to “rightsize” your body for today’s competitive evolutionary marketplace.

Let’s begin with the basics. Bio-organismizational restructuring occurs in three phases — replacement of expensive older atoms with cheap younger atoms, removal of surplus organs from the organizational hierarchy, and outsourcing of non-essential bodily functions (such as blog reading). We will discuss the first two phases this morning, and then pause for a lengthy Coffee & Doughnuts Breakout Session. Dig it.

Phase One — Atom Replacement
Does your bio-organismization have a large and expensive carbon department? Of course it does. Did you know that carbon is one of most abundant elements in the universe? Well, it is. The cost-conscious CEO will use this deep pool of carbon replacement atoms to his or her advantage. There’s no need to tolerate workplace divas simply because they have so-called “seniority.” Replace their wrinkled heinies. Carbon is carbon, dammit. If it has six electrons and a pulse, then it can get the job done.

Phase Two — Organ Reduction.
Approximately 10% of adult humans have one or more “accessory spleens.” Because I’m too lazy to do research, and because logical fallacies make my job easier, we will assume that 10% of all organisms have extra spleens. (That includes beavers.) Redundancy is an unnecessary expense. And, on top of that, the expense of redundancy is unnecessary. If you intend to run an efficient bio-organismization, you must identify all surplus spleens, pull them from their cubicles and push their slippery little molecules through the nearest semi-permeable membrane. Have no mercy. It is for the greater good. If this sacking of spleens adversely affects morale in the digestive tract, paste up a few motivational posters with pithy messages like this: “Get lean and mean — fire surplus spleens!” That should do the trick.

Well, I think that’s quite enough for the morning session. Break time! Please return to the auditorium by 2:30 p.m. for the Outsourcing Session, which will be conducted by some guys I hired. I hear they’re very good.

Enjoy the donuts!

In the dream, I was sitting at a table in bar. Two other people were sitting with me — one was a day-shift manager at the Mardi Gras (the local naked ballet), and the other was Ronald Weasley, a character from the Harry Potter books. No one was talking or making eye contact. Mr. Weasley was fiddling with a Bar Butler® rotating liquor dispenser, which someone had loaded with six bottles of Garnier Fructis shampoo. Ms. Manager was giggling and sending text messages into the great unknown.

A three-legged dog ran by. I swiveled in my chair, and an unfamiliar blonde woman jumped onto my lap. She grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerked my head back, and looked me square in the eye. She said, “wake up and get out now!”

I woke up immediately, but I didn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t think of anyplace to go at 3:33 a.m. on a Saturday morning.

Christopher Columbus crossed several time zones on his way to America. Do you think he suffered from boat lag?

Dear Diary,

It’s quiz time! What do you get when you drop a small letter “b” into the middle of the word “garage”? You get garbage, that’s what!. If you’re lucky, you get enough garbage to fill a driveway, and then you can spend an entire holiday weekend sorting it out and putting it back in the garage. What fun!

In the unlikely event that the gar(b)age game does not amuse you, Diary, I suggest that you sit down and read all seven of the Harry Potter books. Read them in the proper order, please, and when you reach the confusing wand ownership problem at the end of book 7, come back here and read the paragraphs below.

Warning to slow readers: Book 7 spoiler to follow.

Near the end of the seventh book, Harry Potter and the Wand of Confusion, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (Voldemort) takes possession of the legendary and powerful Elder Wand (also known as The Big Stick). Since Voldemort raided old Dumbly’s tomb and stole the wand fair and square, he assumes that it will recognize him as it’s new master. But it doesn’t. Voldemort is vexed. He takes every measure to win the wand’s allegiance. He praises it. He threatens it. He changes it’s batteries. He even zaps it with the dreaded Avada Viagra curse. The wand just yawns. Finally, after brainstorming the problem for several chapters, Voldemort orders Nagini the big scary snake to kill Severus Snape. He does this because Snape killed Dumbly, and that, Voldemort believes, means that Snape is the true master of Dumbly’s legendary, powerful, and quite large wand. Makes sense, right? Okay, insert plot twist here. Snape did kill old Dumbly — that’s true — but he did not become master of The Big Stick because Draco Malfoy swiped the stick from Dumbly before Snape killed him . . . killed Dumbly, I mean. Unbeknownst to everyone (including himself), Draco Malfoy is master of The Big Stick for the first half of the last book. Voldemort should have known this. I think he owes Mr. Snape an apology.

Meanwhile, back at Malfoy Manor, Harry takes not one but three wands away from the hapless Draco, becoming Draco’s daddy and master of his various and sundry wands, including the wand that Draco doesn’t even know he owns — The Big Stick — which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (Voldemort), to his everlasting regret, tries to use against Harry Potter, the wand’s newest and truest master.

Green light. Red light. Boing! Poof! Dance party. The end.

I’m glad I could straighten that out for you, Diary. Now go straighten out your garage.