Forty Three Attempts at Writing the Forty Third Post

Oh, that dark side - It is a sneaky little thing. You think you're out of its reach. You think you've escaped its clutches. You think you're in the clear. On the wagon. At your homebase. In the safety zone. Untouchable. You fancy yourself a modern-day Jose Canseco, shacking up with history's hottest dames, like Cleopatra or Lady Bird Johnson, with nobody the wiser.

But there is no hiding from the dark side. Ain't NOTHIN gonna save you from a love that's blind. You hear that, cousin? NOTHIN. Not "nothinG" but NOTHIN. No need for a g, baby.

G stands for Groovy.

G stands for Great.

G stands for Go! Go! GO! GO!

But nothing is groovy or great, and you ain't goin' nowhere, and now you know it.

Oh, that dark side - It is a sneaky little thing. And not "sexy sneaky" either. Not like Bond or Arsene or Peter Tork. Not like those girls in the movies that include a spy "sendup" scene in which some girl is always dressed in one of those really really tight suits that's unzipped halfway. No, the dark side is most decidedly unsexy sneaky. Like Dick Cheney.

And just like Dick, the dark side makes it painfully obvious what it's doing to you, and laughs in your face as you are powerless to stop it.

FORTY THREE TIMES I tried starting this post. (Which is mighty conveinient for me, since that happens to be the number of posts I am up to.) And forty three times I failed. Forty three times I was sucked into the soul-absorbing vertigo-inducing phlegm-drenched-dirty-kleenex of the Dark Side.

Oh fine, my "Doctor" says I have allergies.

Fuck my doctor.

That's right, FUCK my doctor.

(Seriously, it might loosen him up. Let me know if you are a female and live in the greater Chicagoland area, and I'll give you his name and number. He's not bad looking, mid 40's, in decent shape, kinda balding a little, drives a Benz.)