I'd like to know where my Navy rescue is. It's been five days since this blog has been hijacked by Somali pirates. What gives? I'd rather someone pay the ransom (again, pay for overnight shipping), but I'm quickly coming to my wit's end here. Living with Somali Pirates for five days is no piece of cake, as my Twitter feed verifies. Sure, they helped me humiliate my neighbors' mean teenage sons in horseshoes and they were surprisingly insightful while helping Billy Bob Thornton sort through his recent issues. (Remember, Billy Bob: We're ALL mashed potatoes with gravy.) But still, their omelets are less to be desired and they accidentally erased last night's episode of Amazing Race before I got a chance to watch it. And don't get me started on all the guns. If I had a nickel for every time I've stubbed my toe on an AK-47 I would have enough money to buy at least two of the things on my wish list the ransom list. So, come on, government, with the navy rescue already. You don't even have to use a boat. Just rent a U-Haul truck and pull up to my house. You can't miss it. It's the one with all the Somali pirates in it. They'll either be napping or playing Boggle. I'll leave the door unlocked for you. Just come right in. I'll make muffins!