The lunatic ravings of a classical man caught in a humorless, substanceless, politically correct world of commuter-train-taking, working stiffs in Washington D.C.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
If you see this man, buy him a
mocha java with whipped cream!
Approaching middle age with not-so-quiet desperation, I find solace in my writing. I love trying to get people to think for themselves, thus I have a small but hardy band of friends who seem to tolerate me. My son and my dad are my best friends for we are most alike. And if ever God has bestowed gifts upon man, surely they have been the women in my life.
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