PURSE OUT OF PIG'S EAR TIME
It's 3:00AM on March 6th, which means in a little more than 24 hours, I have to decide if I'm going to the Staten Island St. Patrick's Day Parade. It's a pretty good warm-up for the Big Show.
Among all the madness and strife that makes up my current day to day, this seems like a no-brainer. Partake in various libations; laugh at the amateurs who cannot keep pace. Ponder for a nano-second joining the march with the Hibernians whom I've duly provided my dues, and decide to demur when the reaction of my always accompanying Bootziedog to all that attention suddenly wells up and slaps me out of such thoughts.
Listening to Lehrer on WNYC/NPR while writing this is not conducive to coherence. Some snotty Frog is being interviewed who constantly refers to our President as "Bush Jr.," and pines for the relationship that Europe had with Clinton, and hopes it will be restored by the election of Kerry. Which has just made me kick one of the cats without looking to see which one it was. I hope it was not Tilly. She is pristine; the other two are evil.
Where is the Bootz when I need him to chase a cat? Oh, yeah, it's now 3:25AM. He's not dumb. He's sleeping on my side of the bed right now. Head's probably on my pillow. Evil Nazi Sheepherding traitor. I'll spend the money and get uncle to ship me one of those beast wolfhounds he raises to keep his greyhounds in check. (That'll teach the pup. New guy arrives: smallish. One month later: outweighs your puny ass!) Spoiled little bastard gets away with murder because he's Mommy's favorite. His brothers are banished to yard duty because they'll eat the cats when people are asleep. Never happen with Bootz.
The Frog is some high slot Le Monde moron. He's trying to make a case that France is necessary, both economically and politically, while he keeps dropping "cowboy" into his desciptions of American actions. His "opponent" in this triangular roundtable is an editor from the International Herald Tribune, which is the international edition of the New York Times, which means his drawers are around his ankles while he screams "free shot" to his Froggy friend. I've been holding off screaming and tossing the radio across the room because doing so would wake everything and everyone sleeping in the house and out, and I cannot face the cacaphony doing such would rain down on my ears.
NOTE: CONTINUE WHEN AWAKE. DON'T POST UNTIL 2+ COFFEES.
It's 3:00AM on March 6th, which means in a little more than 24 hours, I have to decide if I'm going to the Staten Island St. Patrick's Day Parade. It's a pretty good warm-up for the Big Show.
Among all the madness and strife that makes up my current day to day, this seems like a no-brainer. Partake in various libations; laugh at the amateurs who cannot keep pace. Ponder for a nano-second joining the march with the Hibernians whom I've duly provided my dues, and decide to demur when the reaction of my always accompanying Bootziedog to all that attention suddenly wells up and slaps me out of such thoughts.
Listening to Lehrer on WNYC/NPR while writing this is not conducive to coherence. Some snotty Frog is being interviewed who constantly refers to our President as "Bush Jr.," and pines for the relationship that Europe had with Clinton, and hopes it will be restored by the election of Kerry. Which has just made me kick one of the cats without looking to see which one it was. I hope it was not Tilly. She is pristine; the other two are evil.
Where is the Bootz when I need him to chase a cat? Oh, yeah, it's now 3:25AM. He's not dumb. He's sleeping on my side of the bed right now. Head's probably on my pillow. Evil Nazi Sheepherding traitor. I'll spend the money and get uncle to ship me one of those beast wolfhounds he raises to keep his greyhounds in check. (That'll teach the pup. New guy arrives: smallish. One month later: outweighs your puny ass!) Spoiled little bastard gets away with murder because he's Mommy's favorite. His brothers are banished to yard duty because they'll eat the cats when people are asleep. Never happen with Bootz.
The Frog is some high slot Le Monde moron. He's trying to make a case that France is necessary, both economically and politically, while he keeps dropping "cowboy" into his desciptions of American actions. His "opponent" in this triangular roundtable is an editor from the International Herald Tribune, which is the international edition of the New York Times, which means his drawers are around his ankles while he screams "free shot" to his Froggy friend. I've been holding off screaming and tossing the radio across the room because doing so would wake everything and everyone sleeping in the house and out, and I cannot face the cacaphony doing such would rain down on my ears.
NOTE: CONTINUE WHEN AWAKE. DON'T POST UNTIL 2+ COFFEES.
posted by Unknown @ 3:36 AM
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