Some days are like this. I awoke with all sorts of strange ideas.
If, one day, I find myself elderly and in the rest-home (don't bet heavily on either of those) can I still listen to the Sex Pistols?
Will hard rock bands come to entertain us? In the morning?
Will kids think punk is old-fogey music?
Will fashion come full-circle and I'll wind up being attended by cute young nurses named Agatha, Ethel and Mildred?
What will the rest-home be like when it is full of Tuckers, Tylers, Britneys, and Madisons?
Why would it seem so horribly wrong for a man to cover the Divinyls' I Touch Myself ?
What is wrong with me, anyway?
Do normal people wake up in this condition?
Do I need a new mattress?
I think I might need a new mattress. Or something.
Very Truly Yours,