I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Monday, January 19, 2004
The Name's ASH...Housewares...Hee-Yah!...
I was a zombie bartender tonight. Zombies make better bartenders than ninjas because ninjas steal all of your cool stuff and slice you up with their swords. Zombies are slow, sure - but you can always trust them for a stiff drink - it'll just come twenty minutes after you ordered it.
I saw a couple break up at the bar too. A guy and a girl in a relationship - NOT zombies. Zombies disintegrating is so 2003. Anyway, that was a first. The guy left, and then the girl started crying, so I started giving her a back rub and peppering the back of her neck with baby kisses. No, I didn't do that. I gave her some tissues. Not cool. Whatever it was all about - I'm on the girl's side. But not if she's insane - then, otherwise - I'm on the guy's side. No. Actually, I'm not, because guys are hairy and smell real bad. Or so I've heard.
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