A Long December

Dearest Decemberist,


While there are few things greater than greatness there are many things lesser than Les Nessman...including, if I may, (and I may indeed) the likes of Loni Anderson...ahem.

I perpetually ponder the pedantics of the political pressures put on the President.

Oftentimes I find myself questioning the nature of the question mark itself. It seems silly to puncutate with something so crass. Did the inventor of words pluck the tail from a swine only to add a dot thereby creating an inquisition? While Curley Sue was certainly the pinnacle of American movie making, a curley cue has no place in such a fine language as that of The Bard of Avon.

My nature weaves together my inner joy with the uncontrollable outcome of the players on the field. At this stage of my existence I have begun the painstaking process of disassociating one from the other. At this stage of my existence I fear it may be too late.

As I look forward to the future I am pleased at the notion that I assume a future. As I look back at the past I wonder if it has been standing behind me at all times. For that purpose and that purpose alone I have begun to tinker with an invention I refer to simply as "that device with which I see those things that happen behind my field of vision and without which I shan't have had the wherewithal to observe" although others to whom I have shared this idea reply "Dear Dirt, what you describe is a mirror."

I fear that the inmate on death row may have been misunderstood. When face to face with the Governor he uttered "Pardon me, sir" to which the governor replied "Indeed to are more polite than advertised" at which point he arose and exited the chamber. Now you too know the gravity of the commonality of our colloquialisms.

Indeed that time draws near during which I sink into hybernation only to emerge anew at an undetermined time. Adieu adieu, to you and you and you.

Dirt Wank