…should I or shouldn’t I step across the room (and the line) and grab that bottle of Wolfschmidt’s and take a long pull on it? Well, wheeeew, didn’t take long to decide that question…Christ!
That rotgut vodka is like drinking battery acid but once you gag it down it does the trick, dulls the senses; whatever it was that mattered personally a few minutes ago no longer matters much…all too soon it’ll be back; meanwhile out in the real world there’s much ado about nothing, and much to do.
A world of rest lies ahead, so, first - onward - today: 1) I must single-handedly stop the world from going to war; 2) …find a cure for all ills, physical, mental, other; 3) …buy dog & cat food; 4)…intervene in The Middle East and weigh in with my fail-safe plan for a Palestinian State living in harmony with Israel; 5)…rout al-Qaida, find Osama bin Laden, catch The Sniper (O good, somebody beat me to them) and stop at the cleaners…going to be a busy morning…
After lunch with Al Fresco at Westminster Station the Plan Of The Day calls for providential intervention in a number of venues too numerous to remark here but I’ll see they are taken care of, having, as I make bold to say, an in with The Big Guy…(the Damnitalls & I are on a first name basis).
I’ve know the family a long time, especially his kid Jesus (parenthetically and pathetically: do you know how many middle names this guy Jesus has? Think about it!) and his family, the Christs, Joey and Mary Christ and a couple of kids, one of whom, Jesus as you may know, became quite famous…there was a brother James too; he didn’t live very long either, stoned to death for being a heretic (whatever that means) somewhere about 20 years after his Bro’ was hung out to dry; anyway, we go back quite a ways…everythin’s gonna be alright. Or maybe not…things, they tend to vacillate.