rickroyal

Its one of those men done wrong tales (those types of tales that start out in the hotel bar with a blues sax belting out the background for the sultry ladys song as she croons out a tale of woe only surpassed by the adventure about to befall the poor schlep walking through the door when he sees that the woman singing her heart out (yes, the same woman whose heart mustve been ripped out to have known the sorrows to understand the depth of the song she is singing) is everything hes ever wanted in a dame and vows that hell follow her to the ends of the Earth if only shell prove to him that the mouth singing, making his ears tremble with pleasure, could make his knees weak with a single kiss) but all wrong; weve got the eunuch screeching instead of the lady, and a woman walking through the door, and my god this aint a noir tale of woe, but instead the ongoing tale of the woman struggling in a mans world and finding (against all of her wishes) that there is happiness at the end of the road for her, and that bitterness by which she had judged ever other avenue of her life wouldnt follow into her declining years. What I mean to say is: its all bunk, and no one takes you seriously after you fall in love.

---

The brain still does not feel solid. I want my brain back, dammit.