Monday, December 31, 2007

Let's get loaded and trash Emily Dickinson's house!

Who’s with me?

I did have plans tonight to ring in the New Year at a slumber party in the suburbs—perfectly appropriate for a 35-year old. But now I’m thinking we need to get on plane to New England and trash and hurl all over a dead poet’s house like these moronic teens.

What a bunch of turds, these kids. I would use more colorful language but I still have a bit of the holiday spirit left in me.

Growing up and honing drinking skills in the Midwest for us, meant throwing back beers in cornfields, behind nursing homes, on river banks, and on industrial waste dumps the EPA took 30 years too long to fence off. Just good, clean, honest, though likely cancer causing fun. As punishment, these kids should be forced to read the Iliad and the Odyssey, and maybe throw in some Chaucer for the jerks who thought to break into Robert Frost’s crib in the first place. And then, for added drama, they should throw the lot of them into a pit of boiling tar.

So we have just nine hours left of 2007. I have only one resolution—write more and drink less. . . at least until this latest hangover goes away. I guess that’s really two resolutions. But they go hand in hand, because would you believe I killed so many brain cells in December that I forgot I had a blog?

All the best in 2008, and I’ll be back soon!