fun

The fun part. Dancing. Like when the bad guys ride into town and grab the shop-keeper and shoot the ground around his feet and say "Dance Shop-keeper!"
The fun part. Checking the mail. Like when you get a royalty check. 'Cause you are the king. Of Rock and Roll.
The fun part.
Checking email. So many little prizes, always. Well no not really. Whenever I check email, I have to respond to it. So if I get 40 non-junk emails (not uncommon in a day), that adds up to 40 little chores I have to do. At least.
At least I'm writing. And I think it's wonderful that all these young people have picked up their old Royal or Remington and vented their thoughts in English and other languages.
The fun part.
Like overeating, shooting heroin, shooting herons, shooting heroes and heroines down in their prime.
I was down in my prime, but I'm so much more down now, brown cow, there's not a yard-stick long enough.
No, really things are fun. I live 2 minutes from the Broken Spoke, where I always am made to feel welcome by James W, proprietor and outspoken man older than me.
I didn't ask any girls to dance with me. I didn't want to have fun really. I did drink a coke.
That rocked.
On my grave, there will not always be flowers. On my grave there will not always be grass. Into my grave will I be put by higher powers. And I will lay there forever on my ass.
The fun part.
Like doing the laundry. Not folding it.