Scrambled eggs

Not merely a homage to that greatest of meals, breakfast -- unless beef stew is involved, then prepare the arena for shattered shells, cracked bottles of Real Maple Syrup®, carrots bearing swords, dismembered potatoes and bloody cow parts -- but an extremely clever metaphor of my brain. But not on drugs. Just say no, unless you say yes and it leads to some funky creative output. Don't simply get baked and watch the telly. You can do that shit while sober.

Art, motherfuckers, non panem et circenses, art. Unless the Cavs are on.

One of the multitude of things I do the half-assed American way to "earn" my paycheck is process sexy new periodicals and something that I've noticed in the various literary journals such as the Georgia, Iowa and Goofy Gopher Review is that none of the poets -- ever -- use a traditional form. Ever. I'm not against free as a bird verse, I use the junk myself when warranted, but never never never never do I see it in others, nevermore. In every other field of creation there seems to have been at least a one-night-stand with something retro, a neo-classicism, a garage rock revival. Not poetry. Damn postmodernist hipsters.

I mean

damn

postmod

earnest

hips

terse.

Go sonnets.

Anyway, it's becoming more and more difficult, really difficult, to come up with crap for this dump. I don't know how you non-political fuckers do it post after post, day after day. And you political fuckers are your own special category in the DSM-IV, so I understand completely. Seek help.

Maybe I should start having special scrambled eggs for breakfast. It's not as if I drive to work.

For no one's listening pleasure but my own, here's some



That'll scramble your brain. Good times.


















One last thing, the Blue Jackets finally made the goddamn playoffs. Figures they'd be up against Detroit. Oh well, getting your ass kicked builds angry characters. At least my cable company gets Versus at last so I can watch the Red Wings dispatch in 5.

And what all you sports haters have been waiting for, the rest:
Boston over Montreal in 6. The Bruins won't choke until at least round two.
Pittsburgh over Philadelphia in 6. Hard to beat a team that has two of the three best players on the planet.
Washington over New York in 6. Too much offense vs. pop-gun offense.
New Jersey over Carolina in 7. Sure, the Hurricanes are hotter, but Martin Brodeur has, unlike last year, actual scoring threats in front of him.
San Jose over Anaheim in 6. See Boston/Montreal.
Chicago over Calgary in 5. Man, the Flames look like shit. Does Iginla have malaria? And when did Kiprusoff start playing goal while high?
Vancouver over St. Louis in 5. Plucky Blues won't get past a world-class goalie.














On my signal, unleash bacon and French toast!