I can’t begin to tell you where it went wrong. I honestly
don’t remember, but that hardly matters now, does it? I’m
not sure I care anymore. I never remember anything really, just
shadows and the occasional scream, nothing to hang your hat on.
I was one of you once. Technically speaking I still am. On occasion
I most certainly am not. One thing I do know is that it is a
most prudent affliction. That’s how we’ve been able
to stand beside you day, by day, eon by eon for who knows how
Anticipation … An-tici-pay-ay-tion, It’s
making me wait …
Carly doesn’t know
the half of it. The heat of it, the sizzle as
I like to call it. It begins in your brain you see, not like
a migraine though, more like a volcanic eruption inside of the
meat in your skull. And when the lava flows … well by
then, you had better be somewhere safe, or someone (maybe your
daughter?) will find out the hard way. Maybe you’re like
me though, and could care less and less about who, or what, will
become a part of your dance. Maybe that’s why I’m
writing this today. I only have a few hours left until prom time,
and me without a tux. That’s the least of your worries
my blog reading fans. The very least.
By now, you’re wondering what in the hell your friend
Rico the Buzz has been smoking. Winston lights. Hundreds, I swear,
nothing more. Couldn’t stand pot, or anything else much.
Anyways, I’ve always preferred my lucidity to come naturally.
You see, being me is a necessary burden, not a choice, and I’m
very inventive as of late with my expressions. Take for example
this web site. About two years ago I started this place as a
way to express my disgust with the political elite of my current
abode, Californ-I-A. Really just a bit of a lark, I tell you.
Well, little did I know how many of you were actually reading
my blog. Since its inception the Cali Den as I like to think
of it has grown mighty I must say. For awhile though all we did
was share our horror stories, remember? Things changed though.
You see I knew the time would come when I’d have to make
a choice. I’m not much for whining, so it was inevitable
that when I was asked to run for office I would have to step
down from my binary pulpit, if only for awhile. I chose a supporting
role, one much more appealing for my kind, as anonymity is a
must with my varied disposition. By blood I may be Alpha, but
I need not rule the cattle. I can herd them quite fine, thank
you very much.
So now here we are again.
The Primaries. If I was a betting man, I’d put my money on the other guy, or in this case,
gal, as Sherry Winters will undoubtedly have something far more
interesting to talk about tomorrow than the failed education
bill of her soon to be predecessor. Shocked? Call me a traitor
if you must, but Governor Van Buren wasn’t much of a leader
if you ask me. I only put him there as an amusing counterpoint,
as most of you seemed to think that this has-been actor would
rule with a ready catchphrase for every peril he’d face.
Hell folks, he can’t even speak your language that well.
So it’s time for One Last Rico Exclusive: Arman Van Buren
only smokes the dirty cubans to placate an oral fixation for
something far more phallic. But who am I to judge? I’ll
leave that courtly pleasure for the ballroom below, and by the
clock on the wall, it appears that the crimson waltz will begin
shortly. A warming has begun you see.
So, fans, enemies and those
of you who just happened to stumble upon this bit of nirvana,
I’d like to say Thank You. I
had hoped to finally meet all of you tonight before I segued
into my ecliptic coma, but the need to feed is well … consuming.
After you’ve met my better half, I’m sure you’ll
have wished you were a Democrat. They only taste like chicken.