Yes people, it is time once again, that we follow the trend of our great nation, in taking stock, sizing up matters, glossing over failures and completely manufacturing successes. I feel the first mistake I made today was putting too much pepper in my soup. Now my forehead is dewy with sweat. But let us not be weighted down by the details, they are but stray tears in an ocean of pain. Here is our scorecard:
Licketysplit: blaring Skinny Puppy in her pajamas, making rude gestures at the Speakerphone.
lambchop: has broken the previous employment record of six months by holding a job for a full year and six months. Please send me a loaded gun.
Licketysplit: Married almost as long as I have had a job. Thinks about it pretty much the same way.
lambchop: currently a polygamist. Laws are for suckers!
Licketysplit: I think she is hiding some in the root cellar.
lambchop: not on your life.
There have been some small changes- Helen has begun writing her memoirs. She is currently on the chapter wherein she discovers the effectiveness of arrogance as a contraceptive method. I got a fat raise and we have a new roommate. This fine Indian fellow plays the sitar, tabla, and harmonium. He races cars and plans to cook us up some first rate curries. Unlike our last roommate, who made penises out of duct tape. Really huge ones.
I have really been getting a bang out of my deepening friendship with Echo. We draw together, and pretend we are turning into mice under the supper table. There is nothing quite like being loved by a brilliant and charming six year old. It is not like owning a rabbit, or eating pad thai. Even if it is really delicious.
On the flip side, I have an internet stalker. Hi Anonymous! Anonymous leaves its slime trail everywhere. Wherever a feeble coward is facing the dog’s dinner of their life, anonymous rises to shake a puny fist of pale opinions and ill-formed slurs at their betters. We pity you, anonymous, but please don’t stay to dinner.
I am pointing at the map and looking for a place to open my studio. Somewhere with high ceilings, subways, and rambly old neighborhoods. Where I can get paid to doodle on the corner of a pad of paper. Where speaking one’s mind is not an affront. A place where public drunkenness is funded by the state. Where troubles melt like lemondrops away above the chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me. New York, Barcelona, Belgrade? Where is such manna to be found? Where would one see taste, intelligence and ability, so united in its populace? Well of course there is no such place, but some towns are more artist friendly than others. I am brushing up on my Maltese, just in case.
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