Giants and Indians for Marianne
Abiyoyo is the story of a young boy (guitarist) and his father (magician) who get kicked out of their town and come back to save the town from a horrible giant, who eats cow, sheep and shit (well, not actual shit as in number two, but shit as in stuff. One might wonder why I just wouldn't say "stuff". Well, my saying "shit" is more for emphasis and the byproduct of a healthy Queens upbringing (we swear...a lot) than for any other reason). The father and his son (guitarist) are accepted back into the town and everyone sings
A-bi-yo-yo
A-bi-yo-yo
etc, etc...Until, at the age of thirty four they almost piss their pants laughing and one of their friends , trying to keep his cool, ends up crying a single tear like the sanitation dump Indian from the commercials in the seventies.
Life should be full of days and nights where your cheek muscles hurt from laughing with people you love.
Sad part is?
your cheeks wouldn't hurt if you laughed at other times. If your laugh muscles were worked out more often.
I can frown like a champ. The space between my eyebrows looks like the grand canyon. I scrunch them up sooo much that if you massage that space, like one might rub the underbelly of an alligator, or like a boy playing guitar to a giant with a funny name, I instantly fall asleep.
I carry my tension there like grocery bags after a month of no shopping. Won't somebody give me a pimply faced teenager or a slower functioning slightly retarded individual to carry my bags?
Oh to be that pimply faced teenager, full of angst, beating it in his room and wishing that somebody loved him, again. Things were so easy.
I hadn't been pushed around, beat up, and sometimes fucked in the ass by the huge (pronounced Uge like a northerner, not hUge like someone who speaks proper English) donkey cock of life. Ouch.
Life gets a bit tougher, but also, and hopefully, full of more fun.
It should be pretty simple. It really is. Be happy.
In fact, we men folk have it even easier than the ladies we know as far as I can tell. We can't win the arguments.Shouldn't even try.
We should all know that the women that love us are at least twice as smart as we are. It works out well that way.
Ladies, therefore, have a lot more concerns. Like wearing a matching outfit.Learning that proper skin care is important, that beer should not be consumed EVERY evening and that the hardened crust that forms on top when you don't close the toothpaste tube is not "Nature's cap".
Really, men are very simple. It boils down to three questions for us...
Point? Gals make more sense, I am going to listen and go where is good for me.
I'll love, honor and even obey. I have fucked up and learned. I will charge the gates of hell with only a spork to stave off the minions of hell, climb a mountain in the winter, in white out conditions and have to shit in a bag, or even listen to side two of Journey's greatest hits where they put only filler and songs from the little known 2001 album "Arrival" in order to be happy at hope.
Goal? No more hurtin' cheeks, a few more laugh lines than wrinkles and more than a feeling like when I see my Marianne walking away.
A-bi-yo-yo
A-bi-yo-yo
etc, etc...Until, at the age of thirty four they almost piss their pants laughing and one of their friends , trying to keep his cool, ends up crying a single tear like the sanitation dump Indian from the commercials in the seventies.
Life should be full of days and nights where your cheek muscles hurt from laughing with people you love.
Sad part is?
your cheeks wouldn't hurt if you laughed at other times. If your laugh muscles were worked out more often.
I can frown like a champ. The space between my eyebrows looks like the grand canyon. I scrunch them up sooo much that if you massage that space, like one might rub the underbelly of an alligator, or like a boy playing guitar to a giant with a funny name, I instantly fall asleep.
I carry my tension there like grocery bags after a month of no shopping. Won't somebody give me a pimply faced teenager or a slower functioning slightly retarded individual to carry my bags?
Oh to be that pimply faced teenager, full of angst, beating it in his room and wishing that somebody loved him, again. Things were so easy.
I hadn't been pushed around, beat up, and sometimes fucked in the ass by the huge (pronounced Uge like a northerner, not hUge like someone who speaks proper English) donkey cock of life. Ouch.
Life gets a bit tougher, but also, and hopefully, full of more fun.
It should be pretty simple. It really is. Be happy.
In fact, we men folk have it even easier than the ladies we know as far as I can tell. We can't win the arguments.Shouldn't even try.
We should all know that the women that love us are at least twice as smart as we are. It works out well that way.
Ladies, therefore, have a lot more concerns. Like wearing a matching outfit.Learning that proper skin care is important, that beer should not be consumed EVERY evening and that the hardened crust that forms on top when you don't close the toothpaste tube is not "Nature's cap".
Really, men are very simple. It boils down to three questions for us...
- Will we eat?
- Will we fuck?
- Will it be warm?
Point? Gals make more sense, I am going to listen and go where is good for me.
I'll love, honor and even obey. I have fucked up and learned. I will charge the gates of hell with only a spork to stave off the minions of hell, climb a mountain in the winter, in white out conditions and have to shit in a bag, or even listen to side two of Journey's greatest hits where they put only filler and songs from the little known 2001 album "Arrival" in order to be happy at hope.
Goal? No more hurtin' cheeks, a few more laugh lines than wrinkles and more than a feeling like when I see my Marianne walking away.
posted by TD at 1:16 AM
2 Comments:
Ah....... You quote from Boston, More Than a Feelin'. Gotta love it!! I was glad to see that you are back. :-)
where have you gone?! was so looking forward to reading a new, hilarious, witty entry.
come back to uuuuuuuuuus! ;)
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