|He tells me that he is not the Blue Bird of Happiness.|
Maybe it's some unresolved parental issues I drag around like a battered valise. Maybe it's because my shoulders are aching something fierce from holding up this damned debt ceiling. Maybe it's because I didn't have coffee this morning as I dashed out to relieve RiteAid of two Fusion Proglide razors with blades, a tube of Crest ProHealth toothpaste, John Freida shampoo and conditioner and they paid me seventy cents for the privilege.
All I do know is I need a nap. Okay, another nap. And lately, I don't quite know how I get up in the morning.
Today I think let's just stand back and watch it all burn down. I know it can get worse, but I don't see how. That segment of my imagination has switched off to protect the guilty.
What's dragging you down? What's making you squeal like a pig? What's Ned Beatty doing here anyway? Where's the black dog's kibble?
They Might Be Giants covers Chumbawamba