I promised myself to treat myself
and visit a nearby tower
and climbing to the top
will throw myself off
in an effort to
be clear to whoever
what it's like when you're shattered.
Left standing in a church, in the lurch
with people saying, "My God that's tough
she stood him up. No point in our remaining.
May as well go home." As I did, on my own,
alone again. Naturally.
Once again proving that God so loved the Irish for "their songs are so sad and their wars are so merry".
The tune is from back in the early 70's (I think) by a, seemingly, Irish fellow. It was a pretty big hit at the time as you can tell since I've got the lyric by heart.
Reported today, in the SF Chronicle, by Leah Garchick: "St. Patrick's day is like Cinco de Mayo for white people".
I was going to work in a joke about a hoarse horse, but I liked that one better. I'm sure you do too.
Life is good but familiar. Like "Groundhog day" except the calendar changes. Boring. Tedious.
Sorry. It's all I've got. All my good stuff winds up getting spilled on my pillow as I drift off to sleep. A sort of nocturnal expression. At least, that way, you don't catch me in any grammatical errors. (Yeah...there's always an up side!).
Talk at you later because I'm
Upton Ogood
ps...
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Upton, who is tending toward a Bogart look in his later years, Ogood
ps...or is it Barry Fitzgerald? :-)
That is hilarious!
Silence is not very becoming.
You'll be back?
Ogood.
;-)
Thanks for the prod.
Upton