But I don’t even have the pleasure of the nicotine rushing with the bullet aimed at my head. The hole in my stomach that had me puking blood talked me into quitting. And now I’m not sure why. You know. Not everything is a big deal. Big hairy man with ponytail is nothing but a big hairy man with a ponytail. Nothing more. Not a person, place, or thing with the power to affect the lives of the people whose scenes he walks through. So why don’t you suck each other off and pretend that it matters. My father told me to find a woman who was willing to throw herself on a hand grenade for me. Does it count if I find a woman who I’m willing to throw myself on a hand grenade for? Hope so. Except she does nothing but litter firecrackers. Stealing the bonzai and my glory of death in the name of Love. And I’ll just keep driving her to go meet the guy she’s in love with. Look out below. Another firecracker. Ow, that hurts. Did you catch the number of that mosquito? Or why I feel like licking her asshole. Thank you mistress, may I have another? I can still get an erection. I must be a very bad boy. Put your left foot in. Take your right foot out. Kick ’em when they’re up. Kick ’em when they’re down. I once fucked Charlie Brown. And isn’t Peppermint Patty an after dinner mint, with no pubic hair on your teeth? Taking half the fun. But at least I still have half fun. Half full. Half empty. What’s the difference? Either someone else has your other half, or you have someone else’s other half. And that’s not fair to either one of you. Cell phones for the socially challenged. Quick must talk about work. And the way grandma’s diapers smell. Must have more coffee. This is too much like reality. Beggars and pimps. Same thing. Hookers and politicians. Ditto. The cook. The thief. His wife. And her lover. One hell of a dinner party. Don’t forget to bring the Grey Poupon.
Yohoho and a bottle of scotch. For the little firecrackers. Powder burns. A nasty sore. And people telling me WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING. If you neglect it long enough you’ll bleed to death. But, I’ve been denied bonzai and the glory of suicide in the name of Love. As boyfriend calls to say MOM, I GOT YOU AN ART SHOWING. While I’m over for dinner. Another scotch. Please. So far the bleeding is only external. And what’s next? Mozart’s Requiem. So, I’ll drink myself to sleep tonight in her bed.