Ok, it's late, I should be sleeping, but my mind is General Paulus in the Stalingrad that is my life, so here I am trying to find some damn thing to type that isn't 1/10 as depressed as I feel. Things are bad, but I'm workin' on it. Will it do any good? Any good at all? I need a sign. A relief corps or three. Camie, where are my vitamins?
Idiotic song lyrics are also stuck in my head and emerge at the strangest moments. "Every hotsi-totsi Nazi is here!", from the ought five Producers just showed up, connecting my previous Stalingrad reference to musical comedy! Sure, why the hell not?
I could sing again, but why torture people? At least I give the fizmeister a chance to mock my mockable Brit accent! Ah, fear not! I vill sing....and do ze Time Warp again!
How much would I like to connect a word, a tone, a gesture, a scent, and what my mind and heart have wrought, into a neat item, a charm or token, something I could pass on to those I care for.... made by me, for you, for good, for your good.
I put it all in the dribble glass of my consciousness and stand here, yer 'umble 'n obed'nt baggy pants vaudevillian, waitin' to see if you get the punch line.
1 comment:
Do Time Warp! Yes Yes Yes! Do Time Warp!
Haven't got the punch line but I'm a bit thick....
How about a couple of limerics?
There was an old man from Leeds
Who swallowed a packet of seeds
Great clumps of grass shot out of his arse
And his cock was all covered in weeds
Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet
Knickers all tattered and torn
It wasn't the spider that sat down beside her
It was Little Boy Blue with the Horn
Post a Comment