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Capital Letters

Capital Capital CAPital CAPiTAL capitAl my dear boy my deer boy. And how goes it with you my fine figure of a swordfish, my fine ampersand? Nicely nicely I'm afraid, vicar. I couldn't be more than slightly half of the perfect picture of health. Or maybe three fifths. Or maybe four fifths, if you'd be so kind, and a bottle of botle to keep the cold out keep the cold out keep the cold front front the cold keep the cold is front keep another drink for the barmaid, archchancellor!

none of which means anything. None Of Which Means Anything. Capital capital. Capital LEtters.

A is for the Albatross that hangs around my neck B is for the Beauracrat that sends me straight to... heck C is for the motorCar that crushes my whole leg D is for the Doctor that replaced it with a peg E is for somEthing, that has within an E F is for the fiend. Beware! The fiend! Let's flee! G is for me to stop this and think of something else

I'm tired. I'll admit that. I'm always tired. Which, since I awake at 9ish, and sleep at 12ish, is a pretty kettle of fish. Still, enough is enough, already. I say, give it up entirely! I'm sure after a few weeks I'll be in good shape, wonderful shape, beautiful shape. A Shape, not just a shape.

I'm just rambling. i'm just rambling. I'M JUST RAMBLING. My muse has left me. I will tempt her back with sweet chocolates and soft, tender kisses. And tulips. And occasional libations of honey. Muses like honey. Milk and honey. I haven't built her altar, yet. I've gone soft. ThaliA! Where art?

Still, with her gone, I'm forced to resort to cheap tricks. $20? $10? Whatever I'll go for on the streets, though I've been told that I'll clean up real purty. Not recently, though. Not if you don't count the drooling.

RenFaire has had a definite effect on me. now I hum Olde English songs to meself at odd moments. And occasional Victorianisms for variety. Whatever you're looking for, guv'nor. You're the one payin' the shilling.

Sex. Sex. I must bring sex into this somehow. It's the only thing that'll keep you all amused, all glued to the screen. Which sounds painful. Probably need some turpentine. Which means:

"Oh!" she gasped. "John! Mount me like a wild stallion!"

"I'm sorry, Denise. I'm not that kind of man."

"What?" she gasped.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it? A sensitive, intellectual type, someone to cuddle with late at night on the bed. You want cuddling, I'm there for you. You want someone to commiserate with about your problems, someone to hug you and tell you you're going to be all right. I can do all that. I'm great for that. You want wild stallion mounting, however, I recommend a ranch. I'm about as wild as ranch dressing."

No. That's not it either. I mean, I could follow the many adventures of Denise as she tries to get laid, but you would all get frustrated quickly. All you Attention Deficit types. Constancy isn't in you. You'd quickly get really bored and go looking for boob action, or, for extreme sufferers, hot lesbian action. And that's just the women. No, I'm afraid I'll have to straight to the big one, the one thing none of us can ignore. Death. And I'm not talking peaceful die-in-bed sorta stuff, either. I'm talking blood, gore, explosions, goo on the walls, the whole nine yards. That's what you want, isn't it? That's what you want. Well, being the consumer whore that I am (and how!) I'll give it to you! You want blood? You want guts? FINE, THEN! IF THAT'S WHAT YOU BRAINDEAD MORONS WANT, I'M READY TO PROVIDE IT! I'LL PROSTITUTE WHAT SHREDS OF TALENT I POSSESS FOR A LITTLE RECOGNITION FROM YOU! NO PROBLEM! HAPPY TO DO IT!

Here's a little number I call "This is me prostituting my talent for you, so be happy, you insignificant worms feeding at the public trough". Hope you enjoy it!

Sam snarled. He was ready now. After the bastard had killed his family and eaten his cat in front of him, Sam had been angry. After he had slaughtered Sam's fiancee' the day of the wedding, leaving her mangled body lying on the wedding cake, staining it red, Sam had been pissed. But when he had chopped Sam's landlord and best friend into bite-sized chunks, sauteed them in a nice viniagrette, and served them up to Sam on a silver platter, Sam was... irked.

Make that mildly peeved.

Oh, to hell with it. None of you read this far anyway. I laugh and point.