rick, you have a flair for posting pictures

by the way, that's so raven of screen to have screen doors that light my fire. remember, in america, you can hail mary and heil hitler. adams told me to pepper this blog with puns, which he believes to be high art, and since art was always high, i had to agree with him. for, sometimes life is a bit too straight, and one has to try to make it a little more gaye, but this is tough to do when you are working the night shift. the night shift is quite a workout, baby, and many who work it are forced to get higher and higher in order to get through it. hey, it's better than crying lonely teardrops over what's going on. and later, when you return to your brick house in search of a little sexual healing, she tells you she would like a little respect from you, the latest in her chain of fools, before she goes all the way with you. to be frank, she is tired of your games, and lately, she has come to speak often of love and marriage, threatening to drop the obama on you and cut your balls off if you don't take her hand. you respond that you have no need for her hand, as you already have two of your own, an unforgettable line that may find you out in the cole if you ever repeat it. so, you end up spending the night at nat's house, chering his king sized bed with his sonny boy, who tells you that you haven't seen nothin yet, which gives you a jolt, son. in the morning, williamson gets up and makes stu, which he trumpets as the best breakfast on the west coast. meanwhile, jimmy rowles out of bed and tickles the piano, which is not known for its sense of humor. al eats an ice cream cohn, and is derided by his more health conscious living mates, who refuse to stand pat by calling him an average joe. they congregate at the table, while junior cooks over the stove. he tells hampton to slide over. hampton is all bone, which is why he has been eating more. all the while, eric works on sketches of melba, which, if he ever completes, will be feathers in his cap. well, they say he dug birds. sometimes, clad only in his haynes underwear, he would go outside with roy, and watch the flying creatures, who were already out there, outward bound for some destination a far cry from their current location. at the table, i said a little prayer for everyone. to be frank, lynn, i wanted only to go home, but i wanted to get my phil of food before i made a mclean break for it and headed back out to the woods to begin my journey home. to be honest, i was seeing red, and i was in no mood to walk through the kelly green of mother earth. in truth, i wanted to rest on my laurels, because sometimes life is just too hardy and you don't want to go on anymore. you just want to chuck the whole thing over board and go to some chaplin to ask for forgiveness. because, deep down, you feel out of step in these modern times, as the city lights have become the great dictator. you tell yourself that the lady is a tramp, and that you sould show some hart and refuse to return. but you are one of those cats who can't make the rent by himself, so the broad way is really the only way for you to go. oh, how you long to return to the great white way, but for the moment, you have been blacklisted. red has told you to go through the proper channels, but you refuse to name names, preferring to give only middle initials.

and then, you are back on the night shift again the next knight. a travis-ty of justice, you say, david? yes, but one needs to be brave, or life will continue to strike you as berry hard. so j, don't get to lo. carey on. alba seeing you, so remember to have a jolie old time. don't get depressed. remember all those in salma who marched so we could all have rights. keep smiling.