In twenty-seven years I drank fifty thousand beers
My brain is still sacked out in bed, in some concrete sleep, preceded only by my body, which is here at work, like a cartoon, making all kinds of erroneous decisions on not enough rest last night. And that’s the way it is these days. I don’t know if it’s the total absence of a brain which continues to cause me to ask questions like, why is the cashier at the mart telling the alien stranger of a customer in front of me about her husband’s psychological problems in the span of two grocery items? But I think it may just be some age old problem of mine, always asking too many questions when I just should keep my mouth shut and plow forward, like everybody else, hopeless and grim.

I really do need to be hit over the head with a baseball bat or for some surgeon to perform a minor lobotomy on me. Or something.

Last night I sat in a room full of strangers, dizzied and confused by the day within the week, which is only some microcosm of the years gone by. Some girl who was ridiculously stoned was telling us about how a neighbor would open up a nearby fire hydrant and let the neighborhood children play, which prompted the recollection of an entire litany of summertime stories. My own parents, bent on the illogic of the nineteen eighties, had a peculiar clown head sprinkler, called Fun Fountain (produced, amazingly, by a company called Wham-O. How could you ever deny a product which offers that quantity of fun, accompanied by a leering clown’s head, I don’t know). The main idea of this item was for water to pass through the clown’s head, which caused the hat of the clown to soar thirty feet in the air, at which point in time the participants would run under the spray of water. Perhaps as some oversight by Wham-O, however, the makers of Fun Fountain failed to realize what would happen when the clown’s hat came hurtling out of the sky from thirty feet above, maiming the young revelers below. Which was, invariably, the source of many bodily injuries and concussions. Which may explain some things. Nobody really knew what I was talking about except for the stoned girl. It didn’t really seem like it mattered, though.

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPKO7AXEg_4vawcA9d9pWqpNiXzuGylh3rHbefSsIeFjBO-ioxsekbZqiW1W7Es_aTbfaH6Oo0axWvkerxgGDQ-X6P5kfCAX34TjGlvvCb77HwPjc7LWl1-Xg0SD1kBA8_nv7pmQ/s1600/whamo.jpg