Who Said It?


One of my favorite Saturday Night Live sketches is
the one where Garth Brooks recreates the Faustian myth about

selling one’s soul for a song that will reach the top of the
charts. Will Ferrell plays the part of Old Scratch … Beelzebub. You

know, The Devil? Satan? Lucy, if you please or don’t please.
All alone in a cold room with a Siamese cat on her

left shoulder and a lone Frenchman on the floor to her right.
In the broken mirror on the ceiling you see Lucky

grinning back at you, a cat and woman as company.
It’s just … like … who knows? Nevermind. Nevermore? Edgar Allen

Poe’s goth name was Nightwing, or something like that. Ask Trey and
Matt. Better yet, find a ring in a Cracker Jack box and hear

someone say, in a whisper, “The sun is shining.” Ah ha.
“But the ice is slippery, you’ll reply,” a bit cheekily,

A knowing grin spreading wide across your face as the ring
glows a deep ruby red like the blade of a Sith lightsaber.

En espanol para un momento? Por supesto.
To fight: Luchar. Lucho. Luchas. Lucha. Luchamos. Luchan.

It’s like that old book, Everybody Poops. We do, right?
Everybody fights, too, in their own unique ways. Some people

lord their intelligence over others and use smugness
as a weapon, just like Bart Simpson prank calling the barkeep.

“Hi. Is this Moe’s? Bueno. I’m looking for my friends. Their names
are Seymour Hiney, Hugh Jass and Amanda S. Huginkiss.”

“You’re kidding, right? Those human beings don’t even exist!”
That’s the point. Ha ha, very funny. You got me, buddy.

Some people throw up hands like old school boxers hell bent on
destruction and pain. It’s like that Stray Cats song “Rock This Town.” Look

at me once … look at me twice … look at me again and there’s
gonna be a fight. Who sang that one? Was it J. Geils? He

sang Centerfold, too. Hmmm. Me? I’m awkward. I don’t know how
to act in most situations, which makes the smug folks giggle

and the violent folks tremble with rage and furious
anger. I’ve been told I’m too eager most of the time. Still

all I can be is me. I’m done with trying to be what
others want, expect or hope I will be. Will they ever tell

me any of those things? Of course not. They must think I can
read minds or something … as if I’m anything other than … well.

I was going to say human, but fill in your own word.
Just know this: I choose who I allow in my world. It’s not great,

but it could be a hell of a lot worse. What’s that line Abe
Lincoln said back in the 19th century? “Half the people

can be part right all of the time. Some of the people can
be all right part of the time, but all the people can’t be all

right all the time.” At least … I think Abraham Lincoln said that.
“I’ll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours.” All right…


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