"if at first you don't succeed, convince children to rub peppers in their eyes to acheive magical powers"
ahh, so breakfast has passed... and the twentieth has passed... and i am exactly in paris [ rue de ruisseau houses hearts so big , they must be heard) and my francais ... well it sucks. after careful review i have decided to nix my attempt at reverse publishing seeing as i cannot undo the "oompah episode" / i don't want to open up my heart map to criticism by readers #4-15. in addition , i have been knocked up with the certainty of a child running through the streets , exclaiming his/her independence from "ho-hum" and those who have taken a crap on his/her future.... (reader #8 i suggest since you are 'en process' of crapping , that you stop reading until august) the next three months will prove difficult for you claim of innocence! ) ... after five glasses of 'Four Roses' it would seem that i would not see precisely am seeing... a complete cobra in a jar..... tail coiled at the bottom/ head standing high, facing those at the counter.... suspended in what seems to be tequila ( though i suspect it is money juice) .. i ask the proprietor about the cobra in the jar , to which he quickly tells me "no , i will not answer and never ask again"... i then state that i am a cobra expert and if he were to let me examine the jar up close, i might be able to tell him where his cobra was born/why his cobra memory was suspended long enough to not remember cobra life outside the jar.... the proprietor suspected me of "un-good" ... he was visibly not interested in learning/arguing about the origin of jarred cobra due to his fear of a soft side deep with in him that would tempt him to liberate the cobra .... he didn't say it , but i could tell that was the case by the way he poured coffee for the man seated next to me ( whom i am certain was a dissappearing soldier reappearing as an old woman wearing three perfumes at once) maybe its just me but the Four Roses is starting to taste exactly like money juice.....i am also wondering if i were to be jarred with my cobra brother and then displayed, would we both learn to stop posing as journalists in this town? [ right now you may be picturing the london cobra as i tell this story... but you would be wrong... so stop. .... back to the soldier/old lady hybrid... the 3 perfumes are almost too much to handle and may be influencing me past the respectable olfactory limit... my credentials (the paper kind) have disintegrated and i am trying to explain to the proprietor that i really must examine this cobra and i was willing to have my hands taped together during the inspection .... at that point, he accused me of being "auto-chinese" ... i have absolutely NO idea what that means so if any of you do .. please send me an explanation [ firstname.lastname@example.org ] ...... still no cobra inspection permitted... have i mentioned the three children outside playing soccer in the street, singing about how they "don't wanna live on a boat no more"? [ their song sounded strangely like duran duran's "rio", which made me feel like they 'had my back' ] they were distracting me from something i MUST NOT KNOW.... knowing this, i then wished they were present for the June 2001 phone call with "the beast" ... again... distracting me from what i must not know... i was, in fact , distracted by their uncanny ability to recreate 80s synth pop with nothing but a soccerball and their insistence on mocking the old... i ( forgetting entirely about the cobra) drank the remaing two roses and stumbled drunk into the street... the children began their exchanges.... "you are drunk and it is morning! you better not be a bus driver.... they run over our friends in soccer games across the city! " i tell them i am no bus driver ... they ask if i am a pretnd journalist who gets drunk in the morning so that , by noon i have fooled my self into thinking i am breaking some important story... then they warn that i should sober up before nightfall so i that i may realize that i have only written "engage the tiger" over and over in my notepad while i was pretending.... they knew this because they had pick-pocketed me immediately after i stumbled out of la brasserie ... peering into my notepad , they discovered my secret bookmark... the one that can seperate all words that are the same into different meanings... [a further explanation of the magical process / immediate benefit of this bookmark would require a larger vocabulary taht included words like "vulpure" and "touvending" for which we [singers/cops/lightening ] know no meaning... anyway... i begged for the notepad/bookmark... the children coldly stated i needed 10 euros to get them back.. i then told them they were fools... "the bookmark alone is priceless! " so they raised the price to 40 euros... i thought about just punching them in the face and taking it... but i didnt because it was morning and i was too drunk to hit kids in the face... i paid the 40 euros and they returned the notepad and the bookmark... it turns out that while i was haggling them over the ransom, one of them scribbled "COBRA-FUCKER" on the cover of my notepad. HA HA! i was just about to pay my sister 100 euros for the title of my new article and these dumb kids just saved me 60 euros! HA! i went back into the brasserie and offered the proprietor my saved 60 euros for the jarred cobra... after a ten minute lecture about the "down side of pretending" the proprietor told me i could have saved us both alot of morning if i "cut the bullshit " and just bought the jarred cobra when i arrived [ i was so drunk on the twenty roses , i didnt even see the pricetag...] he brown-bagged the cobraand bid me farewell... i was extatic! i ran out into the street , pulled the jar from the bag, unscrewed the top and poured the liquid directly down my throat and into my heart... i was right... it WAS money juice... i knew it! the money just affected me right away... i was instantly drunk on power! as i poured the last drop on my tongue , i realized it was not a cobra in the jar at all ... it was just a hot and soggy pepper! the children were still kicking their ball and singing ( this time the song was about 40 euros ] i approached them, this time, very friendly and confident.. i convinced them that if they rubbed the pepper in their eyes, they would have "magical powers" beyond their wildest dreams"... i was VERY convincing... they tore the pepper into several pieces and each began rubbing the pepper pieces into their eyes... the pepper burned and they began crying... they were crying pink tears.. i thought about collecting the pink tears and drinking them later, after the money power wore off... but i had already hurled the empty jar at a storefront... the pink tears then began to carve channels in the children's faces... i noticed as their skin melted away, that they were actually made of stone inside... and it saddened me to realize that the youth today have turned to stone... and i suspect it was a matter of survival in these modern times.