Not Just Anybody

drjohnson-large2Bronze Dr Johnson 2009 Height 2 metres. “I refute it thus…!” (Copyright Felix Dennis)

Well? Don’t you understand the confusion?
Is this world a dreamscape called Hell
or cold, hard reality? Ask Samuel
Johnson, I suppose. He’s the one refuted

Berkeley by kicking a stone along a path.
I wonder if he watched that rock roll away,
scratched his chin and said, “Hmm. I should write a song
about this someday.” I bet Sam went home that

night and sang something along the lines of, “How
does it feel?” while tooting on an imagi-
nary trumpet he’d pulled out of his trousers.
Sam was an illuminated man, meaning

he was well-versed in Greek. One thing you may not
know is how terrified Sam was of big black dogs that
howled in the night and I know that’s right. Sic ‘em,
Ba’El. Axe yo fren’ Le Jinn for dat Voo Doo.

Anyone know what I do? It’s me: Sir El.
A thousand years ago Will-I-Am and I
conquered England to retrieve the Holy Grail.
Wait … that wasn’t us. My name’s Sorrell … Red Horse.

War? That ain’t me, either. I’m a peaceful dude,
man. Midnight writer. Smoker. Joker. A ham.
“It’s not your pencil, it’s the way your write your name.”
That has nothing to do with cock size, you guys.

What’s that line from Top Gun? “Whose ass did you kiss
to get in here?” The list, like Sam Johnson, is
long, but mostly distinguished. Down below, though…
What’s that Eminem line about a peanut?

“Have you seen it? Of course you ain’t seen it. It’s
the size of a peanut.” Mine? Well, mine is like
the goal line in football. It wraps around the
world two or three times. “Me John. Big Tree.” El. Oh.

El. Oh Mama … why is the sky blue? That’s to
remind Old Mother Hubbard of her nature:
black and blue. Bruised like a peach on the verge of
being devoured by parasites: Lily?

She is not a demon, ladies and gentle-
men. She’s a bird. She’s a Lady. She’s is … who?
Anyone care to venture a guess? Brothers?
Sisters? This is a metaphorical call

to arms. Vive La France! Viva La Revlon!
That’s not the line, guys. Hey Illuminati,
8====D “Who wants to suck Mutumbo?” Ask Simmons.
Ahh-ahh-ahh, lucky sevens. You’re assholes. So?

Love ya anyway. That’s what that means, folks. You
should know. You invented it. Remember Pest-
-ilence? He’s like Paulie in The Godfather
or Tom Petty’s song, “Don’t Come Around Here No

More.” Doc Brown and Chuck Berry took care of him
last night by going 88, then 90,
then 88 and flashing the lights on their
silver Delorean like morse code: One-two

three. Heartbeat. It means “God Bless You” to some folks
and many other things to others. To me
it’s a flashing beacon from us here on Earth:
“S.O.S., friends. We’re dying down here. Please help!”

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