Watching Russian tanks roll down a highway in Georgia last night on my TV, I thought:
What the fuck?
Did Dick and the Idiot huddle together a few weeks ago in an undisclosed location and say,
"All right. There must be something else we can fail at. Something. Let's think, now."
Russia? Re-energized, re-armed, rolling down the highway?
This is like taking an old dog in that you should have put down and eight years later it's attacking the neighbors and you're on the porch in your bathrobe shouting nervously,
Bad dog! Uhhh... bad dog!
As he takes a chunk out of some kid's leg.
Unbelievable.
Down at Fringe Central again today, selling the finest T-shirts on the market.
Writing like a bastard, trying to get some stuff started and some other stuff done before Edinburgh next week.
The Lampshade Queen made a rare slip yesterday, bringing Eureka Lori down with her.
Byrne's elegy to modern life is Glass, Concrete and Stone (allowing him to rhyme stone with home), not Glass, Concrete and Steel.
Sorry, ladies. Bus passes for both.
Rosie reliably took the bait with Drywall, so I'm throwing in a free transfer for her.
Rehearsal tonight and tomorrow I go into Overlord rehearsal again. Burning the candle at both ends, lots of light but man, it gets waxy.
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3 comments:
I blame John Edwards.
And my drinking. There's that, too.
I blame Ann's drinking too. It effects me.
I praise Ann's drinking.
It's steady, forth-right and something you can depend upon.
It's American, Gobdamnit.
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