Rudence Interrupted

So he says to Rudie, "Hey Rudie, when's the next installment?"
So then Rudie says to him, "Get bent, shithead."

As some may have noticed, and should the huddled, starving masses be prevailed upon to care about such things, Dear Rudence has been in a state of forced abeyance for the past two weeks.

For those that require some form of Crayola annotations for their scorecards, the following are the reasons, tick them off as applicable:

1) The Fray had some serious issues on my attempts to post a week ago, casting a half-written installment to the ether on a preview attempt.

2) The Fray refused all attempts at login yesterday.

3) Prudie's been serving up softballs and Rudie is just a little uninspired by Calamity Jane's problem that she's shacked up with an axe murderer who's wanted in three states and can't quite figure out that this guy just may not be good for her.

4) Rudie is in the throes of his yearly tussle with rhinovirus, courtesy of one or more of his illustrious coworkers who decided that pushing a pen across his/their desk was more important than not being a dimestore Typhoid Mary. Judging by the severity and tenacity of this particular virus, it obviously must be one of those Andromeda Strain mutants that incubates in their children's kindergarten and gets brought home like a clay mug from art class.

Aside from that, everything's just fucking fine and dandy. All reasonable attempts to be productive vis-a-vis Dear Rudence have either met with frustration or fatigue, both of which, as it stands, will not run their full course until next week.

Rudie would apologize for this state of affairs, if it weren't against his religion.