All I want for Christmas is 1. my two front teeth. 2. swimming pools. 3. movie stars. 4. …


“You’ll get nothing and like it!” … “Turds! Double Turds!”
“Spaulding!” … “Wiiiiiiilson!” Tom “Pep” Hanks is still awesome.

Right now it’s late in May. Christmas is seven
Months away. I remember New Year’s Eve. Y-

2K? Nothing happened, right? It’s in the wind.
Into the woods and out again. Twice? Thrice? More?

Is it better to abort Abel or raise
Cain? I’m a male, so I have no say in the

matter, see? Not really, at least. Suggestions?
Sure, but know no one on this planet has to

answer to me … or to you. Are you God? Hmm?
What’s that Tupac line? “I ain’t mad at cha?” Nah.

I’ve recently been associated with
The Dread Pirate Roberts from A Princess Bride.

Not Mandy Patinkin. No. He’s too famous.
I mean the old sea dog who sails the Argo.

His ship attacked mine in the night. I nearly
died, but somehow managed to live. Miracles?

Angels or devils on my shoulder? Maybe.
Crazy? Probably. Mercy? Definitely.

I’ve always relied on the kindness of strange
errors when they turn from coal to diamonds

and I haven’t done a damnable thing to
facilitate the odd synchronicities

I’ve experienced lately. Strange days indeed.
Strange things are afoot at the Circle K. Oh

yeah. A friend of mine works at one of those in
Toledo. Her name is Pat. She’s sassy and

black. She’s cool as hell. Reminds me of my mom,
or maybe Miss Carolyn Dennis. Maybe.

There are people in my life I can help and
others I can not. Can’t save everybody?

I don’t believe that nonsense. I think we can.
It’s not about me. I am not. But we? Are.


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