The Dinghy

The Dinghy

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Monday, November 08, 2004
 
Friends,

The grey haze breaks today, filtered by the smog of this turd-herding blog and all that it stands for.

Forgive me, please, for such an untoward outburst; I am feeling ill today.

Today, the sun glinting cheerfully off my cordovan shoes, I ventured into our Microregion's city center on a shopping spree of a most pragmatical sort. The hated greengrocer and I greeted each other with our customary polemicals. The corner florist cussed and swung hard with the sweep he swept his weedy walk with as I wandered by. One of a long line of lorry drivers solicited yours truly in a most unseemly manner. Yes: all in a day's work.

I proceeded to fill my oversized shopping trolley with the week's necessary assortment of goods. To wit: razors, strops, wop, gum, rum, gin, spermicidal lubricant, apples, butter, guns, objects of a round nature, origami holiday ornaments, and etc.

Once filled, my bulging bags (and I most certainly do NOT mean this metaphorically) wilted like the reviled greengrocer's criminal leaves of hideous lettuce. Sacks tearing, knees weaker than bootleg booze, unshaven face straining with the pain of the insane, I limped lousily down the Microregion's worst-cobbled throroughfare, picking at my louses as I strode. Nauseous with exhaustion (and, possibly, a disagreeable meal from the neighborhood Au Bon Pain), sweat glazed my pitted face, and my rheumy eyes retreated into their pock-like sockets.

I sat down beside the sewer and wept.

Where, my friends, is Monotony when it is most needed?

Amen.

Hello?

That is all.

Forever.

Thank you for your time.

Love yourself.

The end.

Goodbye.

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