The State of It All

I woke up this morning and thought about you (again). You’re always here. Damn it.

I mean, I’ve tried to offend you. I’ve tried to repulse you. I’ve tried to make you read through the stupid-shit of my life. But you keep showing up for more. Like a good dog and all.

That’s it. You are my dog.

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My dog can lick his privates. Can you? Because that’s what we say in our house. As in: “Look, he’s licking his privates.”

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Never mind.

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Speaking of licking his privates, did you see that Paul Beaudry of the True North Asylum – er, I mean, radio show – is running against Congressman Peter Welch? Priceless.

And, yes, there IS truth to the rumor that I’m thinking about getting into that race. How could I possibly resist the opportunity to debate both Peter and Paul? Peter will be blah-blah-ing with his sphincter as tight as a tractor bearing and Paul will be channeling a near-perfect amalgam of paranoid-angry stupidity. Oh my, and where could that possibly leave me?

Here’s one headline I’m certain we won’t see in this race: Paul Licks Peter.

You heard it here first.

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Seems like a good time to think. In fact, I set this moment aside earlier, marking it: Think.

It’s easier that way.

But that’s neither here nor there, really.

Because here we sit. At least I’m sitting. Can’t be sure about your position.

But since you’ve been watching and all, you know more about me than I know about you.

You stare. A lot.

It’s not a creepy kind of stare. Not at all. It’s just present. All. The. Time.

So I’m guessing you came for a reason.

And since you’re not talking, I’ll just fill in the blanks. You came to watch. To see. And to be taken away from that moment just before…

Don’t worry, I’m here for you.

Kind of.

Whatever.

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Your guess is as good as mine.

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I like to say that to readers.

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Fetch me my goddamn horse. I’ve got thinkin’ to do.

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But first, some music for Dylan: