Last weekend was really really long, and really really fun. Weather-wise, it was gorgeous Indian summer outside but I was oblivious, being ensconsed in my dank steel room with no widows or even air circulation, for that matter. Still, I didn't mind, because so many great people stopped by, made "poems," and laughed their heads off at their own 14-year-old dirty-minded cleverness. I don't know what I was thinking when I expected something poignant to emerge; absurdity is Magnetic Poetry's strong suit, and I (and probably you) love it. Long live the enormous sausages!