Wed., July 14, 1999
"Who would
have thought the old Fool
- Lady Macbeth after having been shouted at and missed by a drive-by journaller as she stood at the intersection of acts ii and iii of "Macbeth"
A bit late with today's entry.
After what I've been through, it's a wonder that I can write at all....
Not that I've always been so innocent. The fact is that once upon
a time in a decade far, far away I fell into a pattern of behavior linguists
now recognize as being criminally unfortunate.
Of course I got caught - and I'm glad I did. I don't know where I'd
be now if I hadn't, but the words "UN Ambassador" still haunt my dreams.
But that's all in my past now. Intensive electric typewriter therapy
soon drained my swollen head dry and has kept it mostly dry ever since.
Since May, this online journal has been acting as a kind of mental sump
pump, sucking up whatever spare drips of thought and conceptual pus seep
into my consciousness and spewing them onto the Internet where they get
harmlessly lost among all the other far more infectious drips and pus.
Oh, my co-conspirator? He was sentenced to three hours hard time
breaking building blocks into smaller blocks, then given a stern talking
to. Apparently that tough love program scared him straight for life
as he's now a widely respected 27-year-old delivery man for a local pizzeria.
|
Back To A Simpler Past |
(All Material ©1999 by Dan Birtcher just to have something harmless to do with his hands) |
NOTE To The Princess Diana Memorial Charity Fund: Further inspection has revealed that the events related in yesterday's entry were merely a dream - not reality as first thought. Please do not send me the second quarter you promised upon receipt of your next royalty payments from the manufacturers of those commemorative hamster food bowls. NOTE to the Russian people: Despite what an entry two days ago may have led you to believe, I do not really have a message in a bottle next to my phone which I read to callers that includes the suggestion that if they happen to be telephonically intoxicated Russians, they should get the hell off the line NOW. That would be rude. The message I read actually suggests that such Russians check the Yellow Pages for the clinic nearest them offering to wean them off their phone addiction with daily free fingerings of telegraph keys administered in little plastic cups under the supervision of a professional operator. I regret any misunderstanding which may have arisen from my poor choice of words. NOTE to the French people: Happy Bastille Day! Anytime you want to come storm my office and get these Russian paratroopers the hell out of my face, feel free. |