The Party Pony wished to call me blog "The Disgruntled Pickerel," but it seemed very sad, very negative. So let us rejoice in the happiness that is The Party Pony! The Party Pony at Law will accept cases pertaining to religious matters, egg tossing, disembowelment, and small doodies that clogged up one's toilet after a big event, but is recused from cases that involve too much alcohol (that means YOU!), shenanigans with Swiffer (tm) Carpet Flik mechanisms, de-pantsings, Ferret-leggings, and burnt omelettes. The Party Pony Event Planner (trademark pending) will work only in events that concern territorial holdings in North Alaska due to a non-compete clause which still pains me to this very day. I gnash my teeth over it! But I will succumb to the rule of the law.
My daily thought is thus: The front porch in Americana has gone sadly out of style. I have a front porch of which I am very fond. But some people on this street (I wish to call them by rude names, and do so after dark) have covered their porches to make TV rooms. Fie! It's an abomination. Me no likee. Some neighbors still sit on their porches, rocking the night away and sipping cool sweet drinks. And our neighbors children even smoke POT fer god's sake. Blessed be the porch! We have a porch swing and we rock and talk and have a damned good time. Brick it up? I think not. Blast ye, ye scurvy rats! Our street is a constant shithole and even contains the abominable SHOPPING CART. And some sundry garbage. And one day I even saw a...(gasp)...a prophylactic lying all wan and sodden on the street by the Sunoco Station. What could this mean? A love tryst gone awry? Or something more sinister by the gas pumps?
My daily pain is thus: I do not continue my children's novel, my screenplays, nor my adult novel. I feel them all to be weights around my neck, when they should not be. I write scrawling, ink-smeared messages in a journal that will likely degrade with time and reveal to my great-grandchildren a tear-smeared mess of unintelligability. (Tears will result after I read it when I'm 80 and recognize all that I have not done and accomplished.) My father, seeking genealogical information, encountered such PEN degradation when he searched civil war records down in ole Virginney this Spring, to find ancestors that we had never even considered before. Who out there feels complete? Who has done what they wanted to do thus far, and feels damn good about it? I would like to hear from you.