Auggie 18, 41 A.B.
Well, gee - time sure flies when you're under sedation, doesn't it? Of course, time flies just about as fast when you're on top of sedation, too. In fact, it's been my experience that any contact with sedation at all (even fleetingly in an elevator) can lead to a noticeable disruption in my sense of time. And a noticeable increase in pregnant silences. Coincidence? I'm not sure, but the next time they come at me with a syringe full of silicon-enhanced Valium, I'm gonna demand they sheath the needle in a fresh latex condom, just to be safe....
It happens every 4 years, you know. This court-ordered sedation, I mean. I'm almost criminally excitable in the calmest of times, after all. The months of the quadrennial political conventions always push me over the edge and into the realm of illicit drooling, first degree giddiness, and even felonious huzzahing.
I think it's the balloons that do it. The red ones. The blue ones. Or maybe it's the licentiousness of the red and blue together! Oooooooo! So many to watch! So many perchance to catch. Aye, there's the rub. Should one actually waft my way and I put trembling fleshy fingers to obliging orb - then what?? Do I slap it back up into the air? Do I stomp on it?? Do I bop a fellow delegate impersonator on the head in wanton celebration of our living in an age of supernaturally fun rubber products??? Or do I untie the knotted neck and slowly let the air out so that it makes annoying squeal sounds until somebody pays me to stop????
One thing I won't be doing anymore is mistaking the head of a candidate for a balloon. Nope nope nope. Not so long as they keep me sedated, anyway. And not unless I can figure out a way to give my armed nurses the slip for the first time since the great Libertarian Convention of 1972....
If only the candidates themselves didn't make the most deliciously annoying little squeals when you try to unknot their neckties!!
Alas, those days of vigorously rubbing two politicians together, then trying to get them to stick to a position are all behind me now, thanks to modern pharmaceuticals and fire resistant court orders. That those things also resulted in an interruption in my normal flow of blather was just a happy side effect which - like my sedation itself - is now at an end.
Sorry, kids. If you have a complaint about the resumption of this journal, please direct it to our imperfect criminal justice system or those little white lab rats which are hogging all the really good drugs for themselves.
Back To A Sickeningly Romanticized Past
Home To Firm Up Your Base
While You Sleep
Forward To A Future So Bright, It's A Wonder
No One Has Thought To Go There Before
(©Now for All Americans by the Next Blather Laureate Of The United States, Dan Birtcher)
I'm allowed to call August by it's nickname, Auggie, because we've known each other
for over 40 years now. If you've not known August for at least as long, better play it safe
and continue to call it August in your own journals, diaries, correspondence, graffiti, etc.,
if you want to avoid getting hit in the face with an unwashed dog day.
Think you might score extra points by calling it Mr. August?
What a creepy little brown-noser you are!!
If you don't get help from Charter, please - get help from somebody.