It's just a dick: not enough to build a life around but there's a significant part for you in the final cut. The credos and aphorisms of yesteryear fit tightly into what qualified as a scheme but what label or excuse do we assign today? Sever all the ties to squeamish and flaunt the certitude to discover the post- Johnsonian JBF. Somnolence avoids this place thanks to the blockage made possible by bedazzling breaks, movie matinees and the absence of the lesser of two evils as your choices. It's a take on the purpose of life is to mate and interact, blending voices and experience, deflecting differences. My stake in that game is questionable, favoring reclusive over mixing it up public style. Easy to be that way when you spend all of your time with the person who gives you everything you ever wanted or need.

Sitting here with doggie's wounds and an appreciation for all that pelvic emphasis is wide-eyed exclamations about uncertitude so cease and desist, ass ole.

Now there's some hankering we all can wrap around to, so here's the closing/farewell: Restate the obvious, crown the cola nut and free all the gray matter before the words run out.