Mawgwa And The Crystal Tanning Salon
What the hell happened? I was singing bro-dee-o-doe, bro-dee-o-doe, enjoying a cold Distraught draught beer, beer brewed for dark thoughts, and now I don't remember if it's day, or night. Moody trumpet music stuck in my head, trapped inside this horrible blog. Sweating now in the darkness, sitting next to a wheelbarrow over loaded with heavy sighs. Mawgwa And The Crystal Tanning Salon? Have the creases of my brain abandoned me for the sunny, breezy life of a kite tail? They're going to find me here, face down in the life sucking blog goo, all the letters wiped from my keys and Mawgwa blah, blah, blah as my magnum opus. Pitiful doesn't describe this mess as much as the phrase farmer Dill can't sit still in his rubber barnyard. And I think Mawgwa is already a Disney character from Jungle Book, or Tron, so they'll be suing me before I can shout out, "Someone, anyone! If you can hear me, please help me get to a second paragraph!" What do you expect? We live in a sue happy world. I have a Netflix special out now. Check it out, it's called, Bob Rubin Oddities & Rarities, and uh...."Oh you sick bastard! Trapped at the bottom of a blog on the brink of non existence and you toss out a shameless plug. You should be shaved and raised at dawn you twisted mutt of a shaudle dard!" No, but my point is, my show was more aptly named, Little Women, and a week before airing I get a call from a lawyer saying that title is already taken. Yeah, right. That felt like it slowed me down a bit, until now. King Daddy checking in to the Royal Pointlessness Suite at the Infinity Hotel. Did you think it would end like this? Wait, I hear voices. I see faces. It looks like an English lit major and a sales rep from the Popping Fresh Font Company. Hallelujah! Ah, it's just the Mandrell sisters. I always wondered what happened to them.