I'm not exactly sure how I got here...or when. Everything else is crystal clear
|Why does arthritis attack the joints I care most about? I ask this sitting here with a double whiskey chaser, contemplating my future having just been fired from my part-time job for a trivial matter—stationary theft and tea money fraud—and am now considering starting up a business on my own. I'm close to seventy, need spectacles to read and am losing my hair while still cultivating ways to farther extend my belly. My hobbies are playing air guitar—Money For Nothing—and butt kissing, which I've perfected since being aged twelve. I'm a man of little dreams, small victories and easily reachable goals. I know nothing about iPods, hard-drives, gigabytes, poppers or Angelina Jolie.
I can think of various business projects I'd be good at: A launderette for instance. I'd call it—In A Spin—get it? And advertise it as: ‘The Best Place in Town to Drop Your Pants!' It suddenly occurs to me what I’m really doing is worshiping the Goddess of Dirty Underwear.
I smile about three times a week, smoke Marlboro Lights. Not so bad considering it took twenty-three years to get my wife off my back. I had help. A speeding ambulance with flashing lights drove right over her. When the police car came I was standing there looking up at the heavens. I think the cop thought I'd been heartbreakingly cheated of my wife's company. I was thinking: This is just brilliant, thank you Lord.
I don't miss boy bands, baggy blue jeans, ice white trainers and sports T-shirts, nor have I been sober in years. Well maybe a few minutes at a time, mostly when I'm waiting in line to buy liquor. I could write a book, become an author. You don't have to be a genius to write a book, right? All the best authors frequent pubs. Maybe write a book on celebrated alcoholics. Or the effects of beer induced migraines. There's no end to opportunities, right? Let's have another drink. Wait, what’s this. Senior Center Forum? Maybe it’s a dating service! I’ll ask to join, what can they say? Oops! Wait, must be a Poet. Yeh that’s me, I’m poetic, Humpty Dumpty, I know all that stuff. Geez, this’ll be easy, where’s my pen…hey, who took my drink!
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