I was blessed to have a billable gig to start the week off. Consultants usually begin the new year with a big zero-a goose egg on the billables ledger-it's the nature of this kind of work. You either have the uvulas for it or you don't. I have situational uvulas. Sometimes they are big as Texas and my swagger is comensurate. Then sometimes I get worried and curl up in the fetal position and whimper-but only for a moment. I'd rather work for me than have to play the corporate game anymore. I prefer roll in hot as the Stranger-Expert from Afar and sprinkle some of my juju around-then split. Dressing for such hot rolling sees me a bit more reigned in than when I'm in the office-like today-sporting a Thurston Howell III rig.
No I haven't yet shaved today. I will run a razor over this mug before I hit the streets tonight. Or before I go to bed at 830pm-whichever comes first. Old Polo tattersal spread collar shirt-it was on the floor this morning and seemed handy. Flusser challis scarf. The points on this scarf are a bit long for a neckerchief but not quite long enough to be worn outside of a collar-like a traditional scarf. Kind of a hybrid-mongrel and the points of the rolled neckerchief beneath the shirt bother me a bit. The solution-I attached the scarf tips to one each of my nipple rings. Shhhh.
Twenty year old Polo Cords and my trusty Flusser camel hair three-two open patch-pleated pockets. Fuzzy Dice?
We finish it off with the wool scarf that the girl with the nuclear buttocks made for me.
Keep 'em comin mon ami"
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Scribbling on the sky the message Toad cannot be read.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
Toad was our North, our South, our East our West,
Our working week and our Sunday rest,
Our noon, our midnight, our talk, our song;
We thought that Toad would last forever: We were wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good