"Wear All Your Greens Or You'll Not Be Getting Any Dessert!" Day
Marchipelago 17, 41 A.B.


Congress To Debate Ban On Rodgers & Hammerstein;
Tipper Urges Warning Labels For Broadway Theaters;
Robertson Condemns "Culture of Decadent Public Toe-Tapping"

- The New York Times, Special Edition

     All of which instantly raises the question in my mind 


     If you think you might be a future president, please - stop reading now!
     Gee, I wish I could leave it at that.  Since it would appear that few, if any, presidents can be relied upon to exercise the least bit of self-restraint, however, I feel obligated to do a bit more.
     For the good of the country, you understand.
     And Western Civilization.
     Indeed, for the entire world.
     And of course all those children as yet unborn that I keep hearing about.
     And JUST when I was really in the mood to write a real downright ugly, sucky, thoroughly saint-corrupting entry, too.
     Preferably while under the influence of green beer and beautiful leprechauns suggestively licking their own shamrocks for 25¢/minute.

     Ok, holiday or not, I shall now bear any burden, pay any price, etc., etc., etc., to produce the very best non-corrupting entry I possibly can.
     And to guarantee success in this undertaking, I am now going to my cupboard and bringing out the leeches.

     Yes, it's a fact: Leeches aren't just dirty little parasites anymore, lurking in African waters until Humphrey Bogart comes along and they feel inclined to help him win an Academy Award.  They aren't even the latest medical treatment for phlebitis, gout, chilblains, itchy trigger fingers, and the compulsion to bathe in backed-up sewer waters.  They also happen to be a writer's best friend!
     It's really very simple:  Whenever I feel stuck for just the right word, I grab a small leech, apply it to my head, and wait patiently for it to suck out the exact noun, verb, or expletive I'm looking for.
     When I can't quite find the perfect phrase, quote, sentence, or paragraph, I grab a somewhat larger leech and apply it to my noggin instead.
     And when I'm really at a loss - or simply refuse to settle for anything less than total perfection, like today - I slap a Big Guy to my forehead (or don a top hat full of innumerable smaller ones) and let nature take its course.
     It's so much easier than having to actually think, you know?  
     And the results produced by this primordial blood-sucking parasite are invariably much better besides!  Well, once it's been conditioned to reject hemoglobin in favor of raw ideas (an acquired taste if ever there was one!).  
     It's a little known fact that some of the best ad campaigns in history (as well as most of Reagan's speeches) were actually the work of leeches!
     But I think I feel a sentence starting to dribble down my face already!  Let's se what it is, shall we??

     It is always a good idea to etch one's Social Security number on the backs of one's hair follicle mites prior to marriage so that in the event of a divorce, one is sure to leave with at least as many mites as one brought with him or her into the marriage.

     Hmmmm.  Ok, well, that's to be expected - the first dribble from these parasites often pertains to other parasites.  It's like having a former baseball great throw out the first pitch of the season or something.  Nothing to be alarmed about and hardly an indication of what the entire baseball season is going to be like.  I'm sure the second dribble will be -
     But here it comes now!   
     Heinz baby food sells for the equivalent of $8.01/gallon, contact lens solution for $31.89/gallon, A1 Steak Sauce for $43.39/gallon, and Bailey's Irish Cream for $90.80/gallon.

     Ahh, yes.  What we have here are a few facts I acquired while researching a recent entry but decided against using.  A sure sign that my leech is beginning to get to the words and ideas that are deeper in my mind - although clearly not deep enough!
     The third dribble is when the natural anticoagulants produced by the saliva glands of the leech begin to free up the really good stuff from my dura matter.  Just you wait and see!

     Someday microchips implanted in all our end tables will alert us via the Internet the very instant  our furniture needs polishing again no matter where in the world we may happen to be.

     The thing to remember is that not every leech is equally talented when it comes to sucking the best thoughts from our heads.  While it's true that the worst leech is still better than the best editor or critic, that doesn't mean you can just dangle your head in a tub of Amazon river water and expect great things to happen.
     Let me demonstrate by ripping this particular overgrown and obviously sweat drunk example from my face and reapplying a four pound creature that has never let me down in the past.

     If Shakespeare had been born a cow, he would have certainly entitled that play of his about Hamlet Moo?

     Ahh, now we're getting somewhere!  Let me get a beaker and a Bunsen burner and see if we might not coax an entire inspired paragraph from this virtual Babe Ruth of the sucking game!

     Ladies, are you tired of feeling vaguely lacking in something?  Do you have moments when you think, "Maybe my best days are behind me?"  Have you ever spent an entire week hopelessly longing for what was or endlessly dreading what now is and shall always be?  Then listen up because Artificial Menses is the product for you!  Yes, with Spago-brand Artificial Menses even the worst case of bio-nostalgia is soon nothing more than a memory!  Even for the most severely post-menopausal women we could find!  Just a dab in the morning, once or twice a month, can make YOU glad, too, that YOU'RE no longer part of those generations of women Mother Nature has so unfairly cursed with the horror and the pain of -

     Opps, I seem to have dropped the beaker.  Well, these things happen.  Maybe a new leech will help me get and keep a grip, eh?  
     And maybe if I make things just a little bit easier for it by drilling through the first inch or so of bone....

     OMG!  What's the idiot doing now?!  Doesn't he know that that bone is all that's keeping his long-suffering frontal lobes from jumping head and seeking refuge at the Chinese embassy?!  Quick!  Somebody get the blood to start clotting up the exit before all we're left with here are those damn 1557 memories of his boring childhood and the lyrics to "My Heart Will Go On"!

     Hahaha, yes, well, even leeches have their pranksterish moments!  So what if some impressionable future president gets his psyche warped in the process, eh, guys?  So what if the entire future of the whole human race may hang in the balance?  Oh, y'all would like to see us perish, wouldn't ya?  Then you can raid the zoos and nature reserves we've been building for the last hundred years and suck all the elephant and zebra blood and thoughts that you want without a single human keeper to tell ya "NO! Bad leech!  BAD!"  
     Well, I'm afraid I've figured out your silly little plan, so it's back into the jars you go.  Come on!  Harry, John, Tematsu - I mean it now.  No Antiques Roadshow for any of you tomorrow if you don't start showing a little cooperation here.
     Thank you.

     And thank you, Mr. Future President, for sticking with this entry so long just to prove to yourself you actually CAN wade through any old crap and come out the other side corruption-free.  I knew you could do it!

     Now if you'll excuse me, John and Tematsu seem to be in need of a little spanky for sneaking back out of their jar and crawling into my eyes.
     Sorry to leave so abruptly but experience has taught me that if I don't catch them while I can still see my swatting hand, I end up kicking myself in the ass all night instead....

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(©As Soon As I Can Catch Up With Harry 
As He Scoots Away Across The Floor With My Glasses)