Man with contraption strapped to back
Monkey and inkwell

Dear Charlie, It sounds like you are bit stressed. It may be time to issue another proclamation, or just a higher SPF number on your sun tan lotion. Self-immolation doesn't always work out too well. Remember those monks in Vietnam? The war went on long after they were charbroiled. I know walking has been touted as a far better exercise than its more high impact cousin, jogging, but even the most severe marathons could not have the detrimental effects of walking while aflame. Are you drinking enough water? Eight 8 ounce glasses a day is the rule, and I would suspect that any at all would benefit you to a much larger degree than the distillate spirits that most likely permeate your most lost and misbegotten soul.

- Joshua
pointer to the left
fancy line

Pronouncements and Twaddle

Oh, twas a Sunday afternoon that I met her. She was wearing a white, billowing sun dress that made my heart pang as the sun and shadows danced acrossed the finely woven linen. Soon, she would be mine. All I had to do was sing another heartfelt ballad and inject it with the r&b that saves it from maudlin sentimentality. Oh it's hot. Why did I quit drinking? There are so many fine chilled ales and lagers here. Sunday, June 9th. What a day. The moment of 5:30pm seemed to last for 3 hours. I looked at my pedometer and it told me I was in Hayward; the corner of B Street and Mission Blvd. I walked into the Bistro and confronted her. How could she not notice me in my black cape and plumed cerimonial head dress with matching sabre? What did she want? I know, I will clean her house. This will prove my love. The dishes are done and I'm on fire. The band is playing, and she beckons to me from a second story window above the mercantile shop across the street. I have lost the chronology! and geographic logic of this tale, but I know her love and affection will heal my life long emotional wounds. It always works that way, dosen't it? Tell me your story. I'm crossing the street, I'm climbing stairs. Santa Claus is coming. I knock on her door. It opens slowly. The linen dress is gone, the lights are low, and my entire band runs past me into her apartment and locks the door before I could enter. I hear the giggling of a female and a stirring rendition of "Columbia the Gem of the Ocean" before I retreat down the stairs and find my way to a darkened saloon, where I celebrated the birthday of a fine gentlemen who I never met, and frankly, couldn't even see.

- Joshua