Ravens often yell at me for "stealing their lines." Like I have time to rub two shits together long enough to make smoke with anway. I "Caw" into the general direction of New England.
I hear rotten Scrod tastes good, with enough Ketchup on it. I refuse to refer to the condiment as: Catsup.) It reminds me of something my Kitty, "Schtumpy." once yakked up. I do hold a grudge against The Little Bent Tailed Fucker, though. He pee'd. Right in the middle of my bed. I had, however, recently cast upon him a heinous act. De-Nutting. A necessary Evil, I'm sorry to admit to. Besides, I am allergic to cats and HATE the smell of cat piss. He was lucky to get as much fairplay out of me as he did. He was a "rescue" from an irresponsible neighbor. I did not, however, buy him the short-stop's mitt that had been promised, for Christmas.
I'll be having the Lobster, the Pacific, Slipper, variety, thank you. Schtumpy? Care for some?
I made quick work of today's visit to the grocery story. Got a bag of those cinnamon/clove/nutmeg and Grandma's Underwear scented pine cones (whatever they spice them things with...) Got a pound of Braunschweiger, which I really like. Call me a Kraut. I'm eating a sandwich with Romaine Lettuce, dark, dill seeded, mustard and Potato Bread with der Braunschweiger-y Sausage at this very moment. Some pepperoncini in plate's middle. Y'a don't need any salad that way...We're all Bavarians, here.
Tom Waits just said: "I miss your broken China voice.." Smart guy. Who doesn't lay down a gal with a throat that echoes breaking dinnerware? I certainly have. She could sing like Rickie Lee Jones and Sophie Tucker and Janis Joplin's Southern Comfort drawl, simultaneously. A few of the things that made me marry her.
It's early, I know, but, I'm going to call it an evening soon. Nobody's babysitting, at any rate. I'll take my sandwich, Ginger Ale and Brandy to bed with my bronchitic self and find some TV horseshit to fall asleep in the direction of.
No big deal.
-Out.
-Doc
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