Albanian?

So I wake up this morning and groggily report to my "office" (the shithole room in which I pretend to write poetry (see "schism in me" below) (it's a shithole because when I clean it I get writer's block)) and I open my blog to see if anybody had passed through while I was away (nobody did), and I notice that in the archive menu (over there to the right) all the month names had been replaced with gibberish. That's odd, I think to myself. Too many DRUGS, I think to myself. So I rub my eyes and drink a huge mug of lukewarm tapwater (my favorite drink) and look again. Again, gibberish. Phonetically pronouncable gibberish. AHA! my completely decaffienated brain says to me, It's in a different language! (I gave up caffiene last week, it is a long, stupid and mildly amusing story that will never appear here) and immediately goes back to bed.

If the universe and I are going to get along at all, there have to be rules.

Lizard's Proposed Rules The Universe Must Follow If It Wants Lizard's Cooperation #1-
Nobody Is Allowed To Fuck With Lizard's Brain Until He Has Been Awake For More Than Twenty Minutes.

Is that too much to ask?