Chakra Schmakra

Just as my weekend was something of a marathon of pleasant experiences, this Monday has been a parade in polarity. Whether or not it is nature's way of balancing Karma, chakra or, uh, Shakira, I will never rightly know. But know this, I am not amused in the very least and will take unholy vengeance upon the fates for this cosmic testicle-slapping.

Work, love, life; all have taken the express train south. Amazing the difference a day makes.

So, I will write a country song, I think. That is what people of poor breeding do when the fortunes of life are dashed upon the unwavering rock of fate, correct? Or should I sit near-naked on my balcony drinking cheap domestic beer and yell at passers-by? I always fancied the genteel and distinguish'd manner of those heros of the working class, the proud and flatulent 'Beer-swilling Balcony Ape'. Perhaps I will go work on my car in nothing but a pair of red adidas shorts from 1983 with my friends in a public parking lot, blasting Ted Nugent and the very best of Whitesnake? Perhaps I should just call Sink Chicken, A.K.A 'The King of Pain'? Perhaps I will bake a pie? No, I couldn't roll a crust if my life was at stake. A fantasy pie?

What the hell am I going on about, again?