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A bearded Japanese wise man (because
all wise men are bearded Japanese) once
said he wished he could have seen how
beautiful that girl really was in order to
know how worthy she'd been of grabbing
that much of his attention. He'd also been
searching for "a girl who's hair was so fair
it could floss the daemons out of one's
teeth" for quite some time now. One of
those medieval quests I guess; nothing I've
ever found to be too worthwhile. My
bag's always been in the asterisks for the
blind to know where I've last left my
shuffled thoughts. "My love is knowing
the colour of your eyes," and such jazz, like
Father Nonsense flashing peace in northern
Georgia (though you shouldn't trust him
with your last two slices of bread).

Unfortunately this whole ordeal's presence
in Ireland was ill met and had been forced
to pay homage to the locals' d-minor
favoritism. Survival was tops, but at first
stumbled loosely in the jungles. I (who was
back home surrounded by various apes,
berries and roaming ponies) suddenly
realized that there was a boat to be caught.
But that was well over five years gone at
this point , so I triangulated the fellowship's
position and fell asleep.

I awoke to the sounds of selfish high heels
and to the gag reflex of an underaged
alcoholic in the Past Radicals' Showroom.
I told the girl there (who was nailing my feet
to the wall when they could have just tied
my hands behind me and hung me by my
armpits) that she needed to find my friend
the bearded Japanese wise man (because
all wise men are bearded Japanese) who
was hanging out with Father Nonsense and
the rest by now, according to my calculations,
somewhere out on the edges of space. She'd
seen at that moment why I was to be nailed
to a wall and stole my pocket calender which
I had circled and highlighted. Explanations
for the important dates were printed neatly
in the index.