...all I'm asking for...

...all I'm asking for...a couple times a year...oh Lord...

...Not Yoko, the better smelling half of the indie-rock slash gangsta rap duo We're Not John and Yoko, brought to my attention (me being Not John) what is most important in life - - the small things...we were kickin' it on this lovely Saturday July summer day, after a late night out with friends and other people who think that we are friends...Facebook has blurred friendship so much that even "THAT" guy thinks I am friends with him..."THAT" guy enjoys pulp in his OJ (Simpson) and I cannot trust anyone that enjoys a meal and a beverage simultaneously...eat then drink...or, drink then eat...If you wondered why you blew up the office bathroom so badly the night of the Office Christmas party that the stank still lingers...well, the answer is because you ate and drank at the same time...I think...anyways, you are getting off topic...the small things...and, well, trust...I cannot trust anyone that doesn't enjoy what Not Yoko brought to my attention while we were weighted to the bed this whole day, nursing the mixture of too many beverages, lack of sleep and Chinese take-out...and come to think of it, I have not had this enjoyment in a long time...all I'm asking for is...a couple times a year...for earwax to fall out my ear...I do not know if that has been pronounced as a national past-time, but for centuries motherfuckers have been overcoming the blues by realizing the enjoyment of the "small things"..."If only 'She' could," the small footed man said...small things - like the enjoyment of earwax falling from ones ear unexpectedly...tell me you have never experienced this enjoyment...and I'll tell you I am looking at a lying-man. While Abe Lincoln was contemplating how to save The Union, stress built up and so did wax up on in them ears...he loved this country...he saw that the continuous of slavery could be the downfall of the nation he was elected to run...but he was "honest"...with others, and himself...so honest, he should have been nicknamed "something" to convey this...he was torn...honesty told him he enjoyed his slaves making him Strawberry smoothies, and providing him late-night bedtime stories and rub-n-tugs that only "friends" could provide...so the legend tells...depression hit...he even started drinking OJ...with pulp...he needed an outlet...he should have gone to the Nike outlets...they have great sales on sweet sneakers that 12 year-old "slaves" stitch to perfection...One day Abe awoke, much like We're Not John and Yoko did today...he walked to the kitchen...looked in the fridge and asked his slave to pour a "tall" glass of OJ...sipped it...and...earwax fell upon his shoulder...he took it off his shoulder...examined it, rolling it between his thumb, pointer and middle finger...word is he even tossed it in the air and caught it a couple times...then tossed it in the fridge at the carton of pulped-OJ...smiling...enjoying the little things...

...Abe realized..."He didn't?"...he realized the OJ needed to be freed from this pulp...just like the slaves from their owners...the little things people...all I'm asking for is that earwax falls out my ear a couple times a year...a rhyme that only a non-pulp drinking motherfucker could create...the small things people...the small things...a belief an Irishman has to prescribe to.

..."We're Not John and Yoko"...good decisions and breakfast...

I'm not bragging, but we've got two cats, Bobby Dylan and Bumble.  We live in a junior one bedroom in Brooklyn Heights.  We make good decisions most of the time.  And, one of those good decisions concerns the placement of the cats' "shit box".  We keep it in the living room by the desk in the corner near the closet.  We like to give you useless information on occasion - like where we keep a shit box.  Nevertheless, I know we all agree that the placement was a good decision.  It allows the following:  We can do leisurely activities, such as, sit at that desk next to the shit box and write a "Daily Nugget" while inhaling the fumes of a delicious mixture of "Bumble Pie", "Bobby's Potent New Poem" and "Honeydew Melon".  It's up to you to decipher which is the burning candle.  Also, we like to keep our clothes in our closet, not our sexuality.  We may be enjoying our weekend off, with our clothes off.  We don't consider anything inappropriate here because we are adults "here", but don't have to pretend to be that over "there" - like "those" "people".  So, we let our work clothes have the weekend off too.  "They" chill in that closet next to the shit box, absorbing those three candles-a-burning that we discussed earlier...before I passed out while writing this here "nugget" next to the shit box.  This allows us to go into the next week of work, us and our clothes rested, and letting everyone at work experience those three candles too, the clothes wearing them.  I agree, we are so unselfish.  The placement of the shit box is also good because it's not in our bedroom.  But, it's close enough to our bedroom so we can wake up early on a weekend morning and ask ourselves, "Is that Bumble cooking bacon and eggs?".  And, on that note, we are going to sign off and go enjoy today's breakfast.  Enjoy yours.