So, I'm sittin' here minding my own business, listening to godless rock and roll... *ponders* actually I was listenin' ta buble gum pop music *laughs*  The Monkees *shrugs*  Go Go is Groovy, man.  So, anyway, I'm sittin' here, feelin' kinda blue, when all hell breaks loose.

*sip*

I mean, I thought the Towers coming down in my back yard was hell, but This *rolls eyes* This was frightfully Awesome *dreamy*

I'm sittin' here, dickin' around, when outta nowhere there's a Boom, then another BooM, then Another BOOM!  Each one louder than Peter Torks bass drum (and considerin' the sub woofer an' just how loud I got this bloody beast cranked, tha's pretty dam loud, comrades) Each one shakin' the house.

Now then, the house I'm livin' in now was built by Joes dad.  Joes dad was a Stone Mason.  When Joes dad built this place he did Not spare the stone, no sirree Bob.  uh-uh.    Fortress is not the word for this place.  Pill Box, Bunker, Bomb Shelter, okay, but not Fortress.  This pile of rock is Formidable.

And it's bein' shook around.  Not only is it bein' shook around, it's bein' shook around down here in the bloody Basement fer chrissakes!

Ya, no shit, I'm in the basement of a bombshelter an' it's bein' shook up.

*sip*

Naturally I went upstairs ta see what's goin' on *shrugs*  I mean, hell, if I'm gonna die, I wanna know just what the hell it's from, ya know?

Nothting.  Zilch.  All Quiet.

Me, only havin' been stoned just ONE time in the past couple o' months Refuse ta believe it's a hallucination or a flash back... I mean, no way, there WERE Booms.  Big Booms.

I step outside.  Hot wet wind is blowin' first ta the left, then ta the right like it's lost... If this were Kansas I'd say there was a tornado brewin'... But it's New York and that kinda shit just don't happen here.  I look up, not a star in sight, just thick heavy blackness...

And while I'm standing there lookin' up, ten zillion gigawatts of pure plasma energy rip the heavens arpart in a pyrotechnic display that makes every fourth of July that ever was a mere candle by comparison.  The phaser/photon blast rips the sky apart and streaks down to the mountain just across the river culminating in a thunder clap that made alla the trees in the neighbor hood Snap to attention and rattle their leaves in the most ominous of ovations.  A gust of wind rushed up from the ground to fill the void created by it's vaporized comrades, and alla this knocked me flat on my ass into a puddle.

For two hours this went on, me layin' on me back in a puddle, bolt after bolt of instant electric death cracking out of the sky, slagging a pile of rock here, desintigrating a tree there, Boom after Boom rolling up and down the Hudson Valley, flashes of sheet lightning turning the black clouds stark white, lances of plasma snaking down from the skies... as one storm front waltzed away, another would slowly stroll in to take it's place, untill, finally, blind and numb, I noticed that the blackness had faded away and there were stars up there... crisp, quiet, clean Stars *dreamy*

*sip*

We didn't have lightning back on the rock... or much thunder for that matter... Rain, sure, Lotsa that, but the thunder and lightning was pretty dam rare.   The rock had northern lights and long winter nights and stars to die for.  The rock had sunshine on summer solstice that never quit and ice crystals in holding six and fish up the bloody wazoo.  The rock had a liberal supply of wanker boys and a small handfull of go-go girls and fields of muskeg that undulated like a water bed.  The rock had skunk cabbage and salmon berries and Matanuska Kathunderfuck that got you stoned just by looking at it.

And it dawned on me as I lay there watching liquid fire drip from the sky laying waste to the country side around me that I will never be one with the rock again.  It also dawned on me that Lazies were a part of that rock.  Lazies need that one bit of frost in the back corner of holding six, they need that fucked up corner of holding five that leans funny, they need the blast fans and the Goat, they need summer insanity and winter madness, they need mountains of hemp and frost bit fingers, they need the lost glove, the wet pen, and the funky ramp.  Those things were Lazies bread and butter, water and soil.

*sips*

Without 'em, you might as well be eating cardboard, drinking sludge and smoking pencil shavings, ya know?

The Lazies can't live here.

But I can.

And I still need to write.  Ranting at the wife relieves a Lotta stress, but it Ain't the same, ya know?  I need ta vent in another direction...

On the up side me comrades back on the rock ain't gonna be the target of my tirads anymore  Now it's Their turn to sit back and enjoy the show...

On the flip side, a few inlaws, some of me wifes friends, and a lotta me classmates are gonna git new sphincters in interesting and exciting places *shrugs*

So it goes.  They got a free ride fer a Long time, ya know?  Unlike you guys back on the rock, they Know what's coming, so it shouldn't be much of a surprise.  And besides, if a buncha slimers, wankers, and misfits on a rock in the middle of nowhere could hack it, you'd expect that some college educated white suburban trash down here in the lower forty eight could toe the line fer a little while, ya?

Fer the next twenty one months, anyway, as the Bozoboy peels off the old tattered gloves, sets the tally pen aside, and dons the new clown suit of Muffin Man.

'Cause let's face it, Everybody likes ta go down and nibble on a bit of Muffin from time ta time