It was a slow day in the land of the creative thought. That's what I'm telling myself. However, during times of slow neuron activity I find it a relief to seek a worthy replacement, one I shall call sport. You see, sport presents itself as a viable alternative to anything that could be construed as freedom of thought. Freedom from thought it truly is.
I placed my order pre game time: two grand slams and a single round-tripper in three games of Kickbase, a variant of baseball that fuses the kicking portion of soccer into its erratic nature. The pitchers took the order and obliged. For a while, I thought they were on the take until I remembered the fate that greeted Hansie Cronje and Pete Rose.
Anyway, here's the single creative thought I had today. More's the pity that it wasn't at my pad but at ThirdCat's. You should read her site even if she is yet to leave her mark on mine. The comment was left in response to the dilemma of song choice at the Commonwealth Games, which are to be held somewhere in the commonwealth belonging to England. I forget exactly where as I no longer have a (care in the world about such inane crap that doesn't involve competition with and defeating of American athletes with more volume than talent) TV.
"Hey, Lenny, the Pope's visiting next week."
"Fuck! I'd better get out my good tux: the white one. Thanks for the heads-up, Bruce. You, my friend, are a true pal."
"Don't mention it. I'll keep you abreast of every important event so that you will be prepared when the big day finally strolls around. By the way, did you know that we're still unsure who will sing what at the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony?"
It was at that precise moment that Bruce discovered what it felt like to receive the full impact of a javelin through the cerebral cortex.
Motionless, he now resides on a hospital bed; his eyes transfixed on a crack in the ceiling as his glands work overtime to produce enough saliva to give the outward appearance of a hopeless cause in a vegetative state.
Luckily for Bruce, hospital regulations ensure that an earpiece will convey to his brain images and sounds he cannot comprehend as the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony gets underway.
Good luck, Bruce. Australia's behind you.
Remember: two grand slams and a solo dinger pretty much nullify the insignificance of this crap.