Coming clean. Again. Still.

JEFF: All right, boys. Let's put on some pants and hit the town.
CLARK: Good idea!
MICHAEL: You guys brought pants?

What is truth anyway? Who really knows? Not me, that's for sure. Anyway, everything, every single last thing, we have posted here is rooted in truthesque topsoil. How far those roots extend is open to interpretation, guesses or wild speculation. Yes, we were in Switzerland. All of us. Yes, Michael went about doing his own thing, as he is wont to do. And yes, Jeff invented sex boxes. Here's where that whole truth thing gets... murky. You see, Jeff has had what he calls his "sex boxes" for years. Typically, they're various, small, hand-held units that he carries around with him. Some of them are quite colorful. Often, we find him singing to them. We don't know what goes on but whatever. They make him happy so we leave him alone. What happened in Zurich last week is Jeff and I were on a train and he was singing to one ("Sex box, sex box, I love you more than a bagel loves lox") and it drew the unwanted attention of the conductor who alerted the authorities and bing, bang, boom, we eventually found ourselves in the mayor's office, making up a story about a public works project for strumpets. That's right; it was less weird and uncomfortable to come up with that whopper that Jeff told the other day than it was to explain his... hobby. And that's the truth. More or less.