I have no idea what I’m doing here with this writing cure, Jack Daniels. Can you forgive a moment of self-indulgence?
I am about to tell the old lady that I’m headed to the Big Apple to take a bite of a Joe Strummer concert this week. That ought to go over well. Then, to add a bit of whipped cream to my baked apple, I’m going to tell her that I’m going to London to watch a game of EPL football. Multiply part one by 470, and you’ll get the detriment to my health which follows.
Peace in our bloody time was never achieved. Neville Chamberlain thought it could be but he was wrong. Take what’s about to happen as WWIII, America v. China in a war of the wills. I went to see the shrink and we tried to sort some things out and yet I know what’s coming.
I bet, and I could be wrong, that there will be some gnosh consumed tonight at the hands of your humbled author.
And in all this, I’ve said goodbye to Erika…not formally, but in some way. Tell us the truth now, when you say fare thee well to a 17 year-old hot piece of tail, doesn’t it make you weep?
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