For the Records

12/14/2006 9:18 AM – 9:41 AM

Get up, get up. It’s better to be thought cheap and live happily than be miserable and though deep. By their works shall ye know them, so get to work. If anybody wants to join in the fun, starting this Saturday, the 16^th of December in the year of our Lord 2006, I’ll be stopping smoking for a year. 365 days. That’s a long damn time. But I am the Super Pirate Rat Bastard, I can do anything. As long as it pertains to sitting on the couch, watchin’ TV.

Expect the normal grumpiness and anxiety that I do anyway. In the sweet sooner than later, I’ll be better than I was right now. And that’ll be something. Okay, enough of news, lets get to the nonsense portion of the program. Down on the bayou, there’s a man with a motorcycle. He’s me and we exchange emails by Morris code. Long words do not a poet make nor iron bars a stone. Somewhere on a backroad in Pennsylvania, a young man had a vision of perfection and promptly acted to curtail the experience. But the further you run from your dreams the harder they bit you in the ass.

I didn’t see the three ships come sailing in, sailing in, I didn’t see the three ships come sailing on Christmas day in the morning, but the word spread by butter and horseback and what we were changed to what we were going to be next. By grace alone, by faith alone, by scripture alone, the one I forget, and to the glory of God alone. The wind makes my feet cold, but the window is open so that’s to be expected. How much will it cost? How much will it cost not to? So then we set out and thought of things that kept the mind from puking doubt. Where is that back ally that they promised me? Where the French hooker? But then, that was someone else’s dirty joke. So the guy walks into the bar and existence holds its breath in anticipation of his next trick. To shuffle the cards does not promote randomness as much as it does assail the fears of cheating. But cheating is a time-honored tradition amongst riverboat captains. And who is that at the end of the pier, so shiny and so nice? Maybe, for once, he can have his happily ever after and no one will begrudge him is change. Spare change. Spare change, says the man in front of the drug store. It isn’t a question, more of a song, going up on the “cha.” The random light stripes catch the eye and the ensuing years are forgotten. Enough. The being is enough. But being and being better is a better enough. Oh, you Bastards of Maine, you Rats of New England, put on your pointy hats and eyepatches, there’s fancy women to woo.