CHEERS

I've been gone so long I forgot my password. Took me twenty minutes to recollect the bastard. When I finally muscle my way through the rusted front door and into the kitchen ( nearly impassable due to the bloated rat carcasses and the ghost of Franz Schubert), I have a moment of self-realization.

I'm getting too old for this shit.

I don't think I give a fuck no more.

It was kind of a hoot. But then Andy died.

* * *

Some final thoughts:

I hope the American people wind up with something approaching a sensible, compassionate health care system.

I hope that everyone who has ever dropped by this place is in love and loved in return. Always.

I hope we leave Afghanistan last night.

And I hope my fucking car starts tomorrow.

UNTITLED, UNSTRUCTURED, UNINTELLIGIBLE

This is my 100th post. (Well, to be accurate, I've written and published close to a thousand hot and cold lunches over the past four years. But I tend to remove all traces of this slipshod diner every year or so. And that's down to govmint revenooers.)


Anyhoo....

It's been a fucked-up summer. I can tell it's gonna be a lousy winter.

Enjoy the swine flu. If I survive, which is unlikely (I work with hordes of germ-laden kids, after all) I promise to lower the prices... at least on the pork chops.

Later. Much.

YOU PUT A FUCK IN, YOU TAKE A FUCK OUT

That's the editing process. Putting the fucks in the right places. (I'm talking about the word, not the deed. Jeez, I ain't no pornographer.)

So far this weekend, I've taken out three fucks and redistributed the remaining two. At about 2500 words, that's a fuck every 1250 words or so, or roughly one every five pages. Makes the story stronger. Try it at home.

You're welcome.

SATURDAY EVENING MUSINGS

Wow. Forty years since Woodstock.

And the music has gone down hill ever since.

It's all celebrity this and that.

Like TV.

Down hill. Like the internal organs of people my age.


Will the 'Death Panels' at least play some decent tunes while they're shoving razors up our asses?

APPARENTLY, OBAMA WANTS TO KILL YOUR GRANDMOTHER

Well, he would wouldn't he? After all, he's apparently a secret Muslim, apparently born in Kenya, apparently a raving socialist, and oh yeah, he's apparently black. I think it's that last one that really has some hillbillies' knickers in a twist.

Sweet fuck. What year is this?

Still....

I'm finding the American health care debate enormously entertaining. Fucking guys bringing guns (and dropping same) to town hall meetings; people screaming about the Constitution (I guess there's plenty about guns in that document, but not so much on government options for health care); and my favourite, the real howler, yes indeed, the 'Pull the Plug on Grandma' debate, better known as The Death Panel, or some such shit. (Really and truly, how stupid can some people be?) Obama's gotta be thinking: I'm the leader of the dumbest, most easily duped people on the face of the earth.

Ah, hell. Thank heavens for August. And American news channels. Fucking hilarious. Makes my problems seem tiny by comparison.

MY FAIR LADY

When I was thirteen, I fell in love with a girl who sat behind me in school. She was in the choir, she played baseball, she was absolutely adorable.

She was also rehearsing for "My Fair Lady", a joint project between several schools. (Now, I can't sing now and I couldn't sing then, but I went to the auditions -- because it involved walking across town after school in the company of this young lady. And wouldn't you know -- I got a part in the fucking chorus.)

I got to hold hands. I got to kiss her. I got to know her family. We went skating (hand-holding actually sanctioned by society) and played catch in the park. We climbed trees together and smoked cigarettes in a cave near the river. She loved wearing dresses, even though she was a bit of a girl-jock. She had four brothers, one of whom wound up on the same Little League team as me. We became great friends, the brother and I. And I guess that's when the bloom fell off the rose. Her name is Diane and I met her again, several years ago, when her aunt turned 90. (Her aunt and my mother were friends.)

Why is this important?

It's not. I'm just typing out loud.

Life is kids and old folks. Love and death.

And tonight, Diane.

FUCK

Aw fuck.

Just fuck. Since I last made a post:

Our friends lost their 23 year-old son. Suicide.

My wife's brother died. Left no will.

My mother is very sick.

Fuck. Just fuck.

I can't wait to get back to work. Where the shit you have to deal with has to wait at least long enough for your replacement to show up. Sometimes, an hour is a vacation.

Fuck me. Just fuck. One step at a time.

I hate the god damned telephone, by the way. And I'm gonna be pissed to the gills any minute.