Kurplunk

Just as you thought it was safe to go back into the water the jolly old Pirate comes sailing back into town. No longer can you leave your treasures lying about. No longer can you wrap yourself in a sense of false security. Yes, its time to listen to that little voice in you that keeps reminding you that you left the iron on at home because the Pirate is back in town.

He's been away drying up his senses, un-numbing himself, putting his life right and avoiding the bad ass Mexican jailer that lurks at feeding time. He's been enduring torture that only Cheney would appreciate, ducking birdshot, hanging with the man on the street donned in an overcoat and bionoculars, watching and reporting on men in big shiny cars and fancy hats.

The Pirate has been sailing about visiting savages of many cultures, smoking with the chief, dancing to Van Morrison's Moondance, with the Ambassador to Togo's virgin daughter while he swallowed her jewels. He's been sleeping on the street of dreams, writing his memoirs of the time he spent with James Frey, drawing pictures in Denmark and pissing off the illiterate serfs of the land of flying carpets, terror, genies in a bottle, and Texas tea; "oil that is".

He has missed everyone of you and has had you all in his thoughts and thought of your musings most of his waking moments. Though he was living on the edge of paradise with the wind in his face he has kept abreast of the all of the mattering events on this big ball and has constructed his opinion on all of those events that matter and those that don't.

There was the fight in the bar in Frisco over the image of the American cowboy that he fought so bravely while he contemplated the new threats from Osama and his dope buddies. The ride across the plains in a stowed away freight car when he heard of the game the zebras stole from Seattle. He stood on a snow blown corner in NYC as he read about those burdened with the bird flu won the leadership of Palastine. He laughed while he sobered up in Buffalo over the VP's means of collecting back library fines and the self-serving press made claims of being the public conduit.

Where ever he stood during his vacation from reality he always sensed he needed to convey to his friends on the avenue and the blogoshpere that all is well, God is good, the Pirate is tall in his perch and his swashbuckling ways have not dulled. Tell Fast eddie to rack em up because the pirate is back.

And that's the way I found it.

Peace.