IT could be the post Christmas let down. I always believed in him. The elves too.
But it’s passed all too quickly, the bon humour and good will between man. Decorations down, tucked away and we start the other perpetual routine, not believing in almost anyone and for sure — not trusting either.
I just got back from America. They give out “feel good pills” like Halloween candy.
Everyone needs them. Got to knock the rough edges off those jagged early morning thoughts. Valium, Prozac and a load of others are in more control than Budweiser and Jack Daniels.
Now days, so you don’t feel fashionably bad or depressed about your public drinking all the brand names have been changed to give you better thoughts.
I’ve been taught to drink ‘Spotted Cow,’ the moo in Wisconsin. A herd or two of them and life gets damn pleasant, although you’ve got to watch where you step.
You know the story, women more attractive and when I talk to them, even I know how disarmingly handsome and bon voyant I be. (Nudge nudge, wink wink).
Just before I left for America I viewed one of those clever History programs about snipers. I’ve got a list about an arm’s length of who I’d like to send early to heaven.
Met an actual, true life military sniper in the Rusty Nail. Really nice guy and was the real deal. I couldn’t help it. I had to say it. “Can you make a kill shot at a moving target 40 meters away with a bolt action rifle, shooting three times in less than four seconds”? “Nope” He replied too quickly, as if he had been asked this clever query a dozen times.
“I don’t believe Lee Harvey Oswald did either”. Oops there goes my back of the mind safe haven of a lie I have not wanted to face—ever.
I immediately asked him lots of quick questions about football, something I know very little about, that and fitting screen doors to submarines.
I didn’t want to go there, that place where some thoughts are just too real to consider—or even say out loud. Maybe too dangerous to write.