In Order To Get The Things I

She's Afraid To Tell Me Anything Important, Knowing I'll Only Turn Around And Write About It. In My Mind, I'm Like A Friendly Junkman, Building Things From The Little Pieces Of Scrap I Find Here And There, But My Family's Started To See Things Differently. Their Personal Lives Are The So-called Pieces Of Scrap I So Casually Pick Up, And They're Sick Of It. More And More Often Their Stories Begin With The Line "you Have To Swear You'll Never Repeat This." I Always Promise, But It's Generally Understood That My Word Means Nothing.

There Is Still The Outside World To Contend With. A World Of Backfiring Cars, And Their Human Equivalents.

The Woman In Charge Of Costuming Assigned Us Our Outfits And Gave Us A Lecture On Keeping Things Clean. She Held Up A Calendar And Said, "ladies, You Know What This Is. Use It. I Have Scraped Enough Blood Out From The Crotches Of Elf Knickers To Last Me The Rest Of My Life. And Don't Tell Me, 'i Don't Wear Underpants, I'm A Dancer.' You're Not A Dancer. If You Were A Real Dancer You Wouldn't Be Here. You're An Elf And You're Going To Wear Panties Like An Elf.

You Know, When You Need Drugs And You Don't Have A Lot Of Money, What You'll Do Is You'll Hang Out With People Who Will Give You Drugs. Right?

Kools And Newports Were For Black People And Lower-class Whites. Camels Were For Procrastinators, Those Who Wrote Bad Poetry, And Those Who Put Off Writing Bad Poetry. Merits Were For Sex Addicts, Salems Were For Alcoholics, And Mores Were For People Who Considered Themselves To Be Outrageous But Really Weren't.