So it's like looking out opaque glass in an old bathroom door and you get it that we're not quite there yet. Woikin' on it, boss. If we just stick to the plan, we'll get there. You can't be faulted for believing it's a journey and we're still travelling. Yes, the thoughts of heart surgery give me douche-chills but delivering is a big part of geezer responsibility and I'm up to it.

Today I'm gonna:
act like I'm Clint's kid and therefore:
don't fall alot
pretend we just encored flawlessly
humpy-hump
smile alot

That brings us to the whole point of why we are here - there is no point. We're animals who can run erect and we have this unique ligament in our neck to support our head while we run and we perspire instead of panting when we're overheated. Adaptation. And what else is there beside the universe? Bazinga.

LOVE SONGS of a BETAMAX
OVERTURE: 9 months of writing poetry and letters from Camp Missyou
OPUS: sneaking peeks at your glamour photo kept in the console of my Olds Quad 4 and sneaking to call you from a pay phone and swoon at the sound of your laryngitis.
ARIA: using legal pads in our apartment to write about you in blue felt tip ink, then read it to you in candle light
MAIN PLOT: two romantic lovers just staring at each other when awake and roused in sleep to answer passions call
CRESCENDO: the melody is never silenced and the carnations stay beautiful