Yesterday I was hurting for time. My shift ended at 7am. I grabbed a few hours of sleep. Midafternoon, off to Cottonwood and then Yavapai College with my lovely Girlfriend; my class ended after 8 and we rolled into the driveway about 9. My journal page, which I’ve done daily without fail every day of 2013, was undone. Could I do it? Yes, but it would be a “filler” issue. Yes, but it would be KILLER DILLER filler–hey, there’s my Triple Acrostic!

(Anyone remember George Harrison’s “Polythene Pam”? “She’s killer diller when she’s dressed to the ‘ilt…”)

For the illustration, a lot of things easily morphable to Filler, Sorry about that, Phil Donahue, Fuller Brush Man, Filet Mignon, and buckminsterfullerene, you wonderful substance, you.

If you can’t make heads nor tails out of the words, remember: it’s filler. On the other hand, if you see beauty, profundity, and wisdom there, remember: it isn’t ANY old filler. It’s Killer Diller Filler.

PS RIP Phyllis Diller, from a fan.