come out, old troll. come out of your dark hole, old troll.
come out into the sunlight with us,
and let us put daisies in your hair...
(from Women, by Charles Bukowski)
|doesn't matter anymore, does it?|
|problem solved. just crawl under a belly-up pile. you're never coming out.|
|sometimes we underestimate our needs,|
resulting in inadequate coverage.
|nothing dirty is happening here. |
you can tell by his expression.
In honor of Lou...a Sweet Jane story:
On our honeymoon in Aruba, the resort had a karaoke night. It was awkward
and quiet, and no one much wanted to take a turn. A guy got up and did a
hilarious version of Like a Virgin (it was all honeymooners, and it went over great)…
Then my new husband Chris got up and sang Sweet Jane.
I had never heard it.
Neither had anyone else evidently.
Awkward painful dying crickets.
So I got up to support him and sing with him,
because that's what married people have to do, right?
(Better or worse was really quick out of the start gate).
Afterwards, he said, "Dude. What'd you do that for? You totally messed me up.
I was killing it up there."
Killing it? Were you now?
"I don't care if those people love their lame music. Mine was the best one all night."
I remember thinking, "He's the coolest one here, and he is not embarrassed about anything,"
and also, "I am going to have a lot of awkward moments in the next 50 years,"
and also "where is the bar?"