In the opening to Monty Python's Flying Circus, I'm the big foot

Oddly, the worst part of today wasn't writing that big-ass check and not even getting a commemorative t-shirt. I've written plenty of big checks in the past and I've gotten used to the idea that big check recipients are stingy with the commemorative t-shirts.

Nah, the worst part of today was when I went to put on my sneakers for the second time this morning and noticed that there was a squished slug inside. Let me clarify: there was a pre-squished slug splayed on my arch support when I went to put on the shoe. This means that earlier that morning I'd been squishing a slug with my foot for a half-hour and didn't notice. And Mr. Slug was so brave! He didn't make so much as a peep as I squeezed the slug-juice right out of him. I was just squeezing ... squeezing ... squeezing ... as Mr. Slug merged with the infinite. I never even knew his first name.

Are slugs pseudopods? That was my second thought after discovering my liquidy invertebrate friend, and I never did get around to looking it up.