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Well, Manny (if that is your real name)…I am still recovering from Friday’s events. I think, however, that I can safely say that my shin was definitely dug. It was all in a night’s work for the world’s foremost secret agent… That being yours truly. I’ll bet you didn’t know that. I, on the other hand, did.

You see, it is my business to know things. Things like Manny’s real name or Rick’s real age. It is important to know these things because you never can tell when your knowledge may become currency for the purposes of, say, paying off your Soviet guard to the tune of a year’s salary, enabling you to escape from a nameless Siberian gulag in the dead of night during a lunar eclipse. I know about these things…trust me.

Watching the Oscars last night from the comfort of my steel-reinforced concrete bunker somewhere in the South Pacific, I remembered one hazy night northwest of Saigon in ’71 when Jonesy predicted the end of the world. I dug out my journal, in which I wrote: “All is quiet except for Jonesy’s laughter echoing through the jungle. I’d asked him: ‘Jonesy, are we gonna make it?’ And, as if in a trance, he said: ‘Yes, as long as Eminem doesn’t ever win an Oscar’.”

I couldn’t understand what he meant…until now.

I realize that this blog doesn’t make any sense, and you can thank your lucky stars for that, because cleanliness is next to godliness or something…hmm…methinks the free grog we had at the party on Friday is still affecting the little grey cells. Oh, Poirot, it is your gift; it is your curse.

I think I’ll end this rambling, nonsensical mess with some Consummate V’s.

VVVVVVVVVVVV

Maybe a blog by Matt will make more sense…

Posted on Monday, March 24th, 2003 at 4:26 pm by Justin and is filed under Blog.

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