Little Devvie.

They said, and I was thinking, was this the universe playing one of those indifferent little funnies on me, that they had a face-sized Oatmeal Cream Pie.  Before Steffy made the blippity-blah Glutton Face, my pumps were kicked-off and my panties were going across my ankles.

"I think you misunderstood."

"Don't worry.  We're about to get straight."

"Have you ever discoursed with two women?"

"Hath not a Jew eyes?  Prick us; do we not bleed?"

Being told I had to last about 42 minutes, I was about to start asking for a bottle of water, tapping on her forearm, asking her for a minute to breathe.

I thought, and I realized we had a Mark Twain Prize recipient who looked the Predator, and I thought to myself, it was grossly political, all, how some look at remarks and agree, where others are horribly offended, such to cost the Predator work.

Thing was, you had to parse the discourse from a particular world view, see it through that lens, and magically, words and ideas would appear; it was like writing one's secret notes with potato gore, and then pouring brake fluid on it to make the quiddity of the thing plain.

As clear as an unbroken leg.

She had her hands around her face in a big circle-shape and she was flicking her tongue.  It reminded me of a horrible nightmare from my teen years, in which, it was, an anxiety dream, where any amount of bad things could happen at any time, unbridled, unchained, the world at large, and like an infantile territorialism, I was suited as such to be almost in a state of panic.  We only had one thing on our mind, and that one A.I. slot oscillated randomly between Final Fantasy 6 and Mortal Kombat II.

My Sociology text had a picture of Michele Obama in it, and I almost had that right-wing knee-jerk reaction.

I could go like that sometime, depositing magic eggs across my region, but never exactly flicking my tongue like a sneaky-snake, but doing more Isaac Hayes, kinda caressing the tendrils on the opened-up peach, going against the tendrils of the peach pit.  "Let the people know my wisdom; fill the land with smoke..." -John Fogherty.

I would not apologize for the numbness or lack of conscience demonstrated across the universe, for I was part and parcel, myself, as much as anyone, and who knew in the final balance, some random hair follicle or toenail clipping in some forgotten corner might make her think of me, even in the throes of that lack of conscience, and if I precipitated a smile, I'd feel like my life were almost worth all the other that came with it.