There's a kid down there who, quite literally, had a wallet thrown at him when he went to proofread some copy as a favor to a former friend whose sister I used to date in Ft Dix, New Jersey. Even though he had hair down to here, people still wondered if he wasn't 'all there'. I would take them aside one by one and demand to know if they'd ever wondered about a little thing that I'd rather not go into at this very moment. They turned to me, as if to a real person, and relayed to me in excruciating detail their plans for the domination of every conceivable battle space. I took a sip of my iced tea, thought for a few seconds and decided to throw them a bone in the only way I know how. They took to it like dogs to water. And ever since then, whenever I need anything, I call one of the executives I met before the War and invite them over to the house to exchange points of view in an eminently candid, yet mature, manner. This is why anyone whose quandary is up for grabs is urged on most local shows to act as if they were about to receive some sensible advice from an unusual source of infernal racket. It will help to keep them young in spirit, if not always the sharpest bulb in the drawer. You've got this.
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