. . . when a stranger walks up to him and asks "Have you got the time?"

Simon sighs, puts down the suitcases and glances at his wrist. "It's a quarter to six," he says.

"Hey, that's a pretty fancy watch!" exclaims the stranger.

Simon brightens a little. "Yeah, it's not bad. Check this out" and he shows him a time zone display not just for every time zone in the world, but for the 86 largest metropolis. He hits a few buttons and from somewhere on the watch a voice says "The time is eleven 'till six" in a very West Texas accent. A few more buttons and the same voice says something in Japanese.

Simon continues "I've put in regional accents for each city". The display is unbelievably high quality and the voice is simply astounding. The stranger is struck dumb with admiration. "That's not all," says Simon. He pushes a few more buttons and a tiny but very hi-resolution map of New York City appears on the display. "The flashing dot shows our location by satellite positioning," explains Simon. "View recede ten," Simon says, and the display changes to show eastern New York state.

"I want to buy this watch!" says the stranger.

"Oh, no, it's not ready for sale yet; I'm still working out the bugs," says the inventor. "But look at this," and he proceeds to demonstrate that the watch is also a very creditable little FM radio receiver with a digital tuner, a sonar device that can measure distances up to 125 meters, a pager with thermal paper printout and, most impressive of all, the capacity for voice recordings of up to 300 standard-size books," though I only have 32 of my favorites in there so far" says Simon.

"I've got to have this watch!" says the stranger.

"No, you don't understand; it's not ready."

"I'll give you $1000 for it!"

"Oh, no, I've already spent more than -"

"I'll give you $5000 for it!"

"But it's just not -"

"I'll give you $15,000 for it!" And the stranger pulls out a checkbook. Simon stops to think. He's only put about $8500 into materials and development, and with $15 000 he can make another one and have it ready for merchandising in only six months. The stranger frantically finishes writing the check and waves it in front of him. "Here it is, ready to hand to you right here and now. $15,000. Take it or leave it."

Simon abruptly makes his decision. "OK," he says, and peels off the watch. They make the exchange and the stranger starts happily away.

"Hey, wait a minute," calls Simon after the stranger, who turns around warily. Simon points to the two suitcases he'd been trying to wrestle through the bus station. "Don't forget your batteries."

• The reason why our bras don't always match our underwear is because WE actually change our underwear.
• The next time you and your buddies joke about armed women in combat, take a poll to see which of you successfully aim at the toilet rim.
• If we're watching football with you--it's not bonding--it's their butts.
• Whenever possible, please try to say whatever you have to say after the movie.
• Please don't drive when you're not driving.
• Lay off the beans several hours before bedtime.
• If you were really looking for an honest answer, you wouldn't ask in bed.
• The next time you joke about female drivers, research the number of accidents caused by rubber-necking mini-skirts.
• If only women gossip, how do you and your friends keep track of "who's easy"?
• Stop telling us most male strippers are gay: we don't care.
• When you're not around, I belch loudly, too.
• We don't mind if you look in the mirror to check your appearance – in fact -- please do !!!
• When you're out with us, please wear "our" favorite outfit rather than "yours" -- the torn jeans and dirty T-Shirt will last longer that way.
• If you must grunt in reply, please develop a system to indicate a positive vs a negative grunt.
• Don't insist that we "get off the phone" and then not talk to us.
• Eye contact is best established above our shoulder-level.
• Cleaning the house is not necessarily "women's work"; besides, most of the "dirt" and clutter is yours anyway.
• Yes, we know most of the great chefs are men, why is it then you never want to cook?
• We go to the Ladies Room in groups to talk about you.

Lately I've been getting flamed by people telling me I shouldn't put my political opinions in the comic strip. This surprised me because I didn't know I had any political opinions.

In one recent comic I depicted an Elbonian oil worker drilling through the back of a unicorn. Apparently something about that psychotic mess looked like an opinion about drilling in the Alaskan Wildlife Preserve. It's hard to have a righteous opinion on the environment when you're as selfish and uninformed as I am.

On one hand, I'm a cat-loving vegetarian who ought to care deeply about the caribou or koala bears or bats or whatever they have in Alaska. On the other hand, I live in California so I'd be willing to squeeze schoolchildren to death if I thought some oil would come out. I might feel different if I planned to visit the Alaskan Wildlife Preserve anytime soon. But I don't know what I would do once I got there, aside from praying that I froze to death before I got eaten by a caribou, or a koala bear, or a bat.

I've seen pictures of the Alaskan Wildlife Preserve and I can sum it up in just two words: North Dakota. Do we really need two North Dakotas? I mean, we already have South Dakota as an emergency spare. I don't know whom to believe about the number of critters that will get hurt by drilling in Alaska. The oil companies want me to believe that the drilling crews will be giving backrubs and chocolate to the penguins, possibly taking them to formal dances.

The environmentalists want me to believe that herds of caribou will be squeezed into a single windowless igloo and forced to make sneakers out of their own hide for ten cents an hour.

My confusion is compounded by the fact that I ran over a squirrel yesterday while taking my car into the shop. I don't know how that's related, but it seemed worth mentioning.

Many questions remain. Will more animals die during, a) oil drilling in the Alaskan Wilderness Preserve, or b) production of footwear for the protesters? How much oil is in the ground up there in Alaska anyway? In your heart you know that somewhere there's a guy in a cubicle who had to come up with an estimate for his boss. He probably didn't have the budget to do the kinds of tests he wanted to do so he just flew up there, stomped around in a big furry outfit, stuck some poles in the ground, and proclaimed it to contain five billion barrels of oil. He knew he'd be working someplace else before anyone was the wiser.

As the data worked its way up the chain of management, every manager tacked on a few billion barrels to puff up his own importance. Now we're pretty sure that the entire planet Earth is comprised of nothing but two inches of topsoil covering a huge ball of oil.

To summarize my political opinions:

1. I don't like unicorns
2. There is no oil in schoolchildren
3. Everyone on earth is a lying weasel