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Sunday, June 4, 2017

HILARITY IN THE UNIVERSE!

     



          I HEREBY DECLARE THERE IS HILARITY IN THE UNIVERSE

      This isn't what I wanted to say. I used to be an attorney --- so if my words seem POMPOUS...  BLAME IT ON THE LAW!

... before I did what I REALLY wanted to do, which WUZ play guitar and make a  fool of myself on stage....
NO! NO! NO!
        That's not exactly what I want to say, either!

        THERE IS HILARITY IN THE UNIVERSE!

        And I know.

        Because I have seen vast portions of the universe... right from my perch on the toilet.
Well, not just when I was on the toilet... But ---
there too.

         I tell my buddy, "DON'T SIT ME NEXT TO A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN... I'LL BEHAVE BADLY!"

        I'll set the scene for you for you. 

                       SCENE 1  (exterior)

We're going to a concert. A bunch of my rock and roll pals are putting on a show... they are playing a bunch of songs --- including some of my songs... so I kinda have to be here.

      (EITHER I'LL END UP IN HER LAP OR SHE'LL END UP IN MY LAP)

       I told you!
       Or we'll have to nab her as she's sprinting for the door...

        There's nowhere to go outside this particular bar.... which is on the docks of WAIT-A-BIT... down by the big river where the
evil weasels live... women show up to these dances in old jeans and running shoes. But that's not going to help them.
          To the north (downriver) past where the big weasels rollick and dance under the northern lights of the NORTHWEST TERRITORIES... the weasels are bigger now...
((this is a state secret, but who we fooling?))
....to the north is Nothing.
... and to the south, Nothing, also.
       You can't go south. Certainly not in a canoe... You ever try to paddle 2,700 miles in a canoe? Maybe... Up river. Never. No way at all.
It's 1,700 miles to Great Slave Lake. Up river it's 2,700 miles. And when the flies come, it's 5000 miles. Impossible!
         In a plane, it's possible. But not pleasant.


        The horrible genetic makeup  of the king of the weasel family, in Canada, we call them "DEVIL BEASTS!"

(To be honest and fair --- the native people, the semi-original people of this area --- have called them "DEVIL BEASTS" far longer than we have, the so called 'white...ies"  have called them that.)
        They're also called "wolverines".  But not any more.

        Some geniuses in the Canadian Air Force
mixed WEASEL DNA (those tricky bastards)
with the entirely more devious HUMAN DNA
and consequently we have AN ENTIRELY NEW BEAST to deal with in the distant north (here) --- when we  had far too much craziness to deal with already.

               (The idea was: "It'll stop an invasion."
Ha! Ha! My thinking is this: "I haven't seen a tourist up here for 17 years...If we get invaded, I'll sell them my carvings. Ha! 
            Or sell them  the booze I've been making for decades. And haven't drunk yet. After a decade, if you drink it... you don't go blind.)

Craziness...
From dawn til dusk.... and the dawn never ends and the dusk never comes.

Now we have truly fearsome beasts, who are as smart as we are... and have sharper and bigger teeth and who are far, far faster than we are... 

You have to be a really good shot to save your ass. And you must have a firearm under your arm at all times.

 The fuckers have learned how to open doors.
...........


 Back to the dance... there is nowhere for the ladies to run to safety.

But that's not the point. The point is I'm sitting next to her and I'm trying to be vaguely human. ( Which I can be for about 3 minutes if I hold my breath and stare at the ceiling) What I'm saying is - I'm in an impossible situation -
if I'd known I was going to be in this very situation I would have taken care of my mad lust at least twice before the show and brushed my teeth at least once.
*************

      SO NOW... 
      I wake up this morning alone, and on my stomach and I'm laughing as soon as I sit up.
      This means I'm still drunk.
       I drank too much last night. And now I have to drink a lot more... this morning.

       I woke up clutching a sheath of papers like a bottle in my left hand.
       This is the first bit -just a bit- of what I wrote.
       At the moment, I'm feeling sensitive.
(translation = hung over)
       I'm afraid to read any more.



If I don't publish this now, I know I'll be smart enough not to publish this later.

(C) 2017 by W.G. Milne.