Well, shee-it. Today was ostensibly supposed to be an unbusy day, but it ended up being busy as hell. Not pointlessly so…I got rather a lot done. But not enough. Never enough. There are a couple of things I’ve been working on for you, but it’s been tough to block out enough time to finish either one. Soon, I hope.
I may have decided to turn the writing shed into a tiki lounge, thematically, at least for the summer. I got an absurd tiki god statue that’s eyes glow red to guard the door. Next up will be a snazzy set of tiki cocktail mugs to accommodate the annual switch from winter’s Jack and Coke to summer’s Jungle Juice™. It’s a secret recipe concocted by yrs. truly in a dream I had where I was doing cocaine with Colonel Sanders on the porch of his plantation and the two of us were arguing ferociously about it being impossible to come up with a better summer drink than southern sweet tea. It was about to come to blows when an angel named Wazoo intervened. “Behold! I am an angel of the Lord Our God and my name is Wazoo!” Which drew not the hoped-for awe from the small crowd that had gathered, but rather a series of malicious snickers, which seemed to really depress Wazoo. Dispirited, he trudged over to me and whispered the recipe to something he called Jungle Juice™ in my ear. Then he called the colonel a series of hateful names, gave him a wet willy, and vanished. That was the dream. It was weird as hell, dear reader. But when I woke up, I rushed to the kitchen, gathered the ingredients, and made the first Jungle Juice™. That shit is delicious.
And but so anyway, yes…writing shed tiki lounge.
N.P.: “Assume the Position” – Lafayette Gilchrist, The New Volcanoes