Shoot To Fill

I am Dmitri Pablos El Grapos and I approve this message.

Zeroes and Ones

...or maybe just Ones, 'cause there's a lotta firsts here.

Year Zero is the first Nine Inch Nails record I can listen to all the way through since Pretty Hate Machine in 1989. It's the first of Trent Reznor's "concept" albums I'd say works as a whole. And most enjoyably, it's the first time past 1992's Broken I've been able to shout along with NIN at the top of my lungs and savor the anger and aggression while keeping a straight face. Why come?

Mr Reznor's finally changed his topic. He's no longer sniveling about the girl or guy or God who's done him wrong. This time the schlep who got dumped and damned is the world, and we're the Ones (Zeroes, actually) responsible. I'd even venture to say Trent's found a place for the Almighty in his dirty little heart, and he's okay with being judged by a higher power that's likely a mite disappointed in what we've done with the gifts it gave us.

That is to say, I take Trent's "Zeroes and Ones" to mark something other than the bits and bytes usually serving as his musical instruments. Call a Zero, perhaps, those who haven't the inclination to help improve this mess we've gotten ourselves into here on planet Earth. And a One? Maybe that's somebody who can find a peaceful solution to our religious, resource and territorial disputes instead of taking up vengeful arms.

Anyhoo. Enough ballyhoo - I've already bitten off more than I have the chops to chew. Long-overdue political subject matter aside, there's some rather good old-fashioned industrial disco on this album. And I listened to it rather non-stop while driving my way around the United States two months ago (splicing in some cheerier bile from the adorable Lily Allen for relief now and then).

End result: a decent familiarity with Trent's new tunes. And a hankering to play around with them.

So here's minimixes fo' y'all - especially for Dave and Tara, whom I know dig this record as much as I do. These are sort-of-sequels to my Nails mixes from last year, though this time I didn't want to pair past with present (as I did on Pretty Hate Machine and With Teeth), because the new album, really, points only to itself.

My Violent God Given Heart
The Good Master
Me, I'm The Destroyer

Shame on us
We knew from the start
May God have mercy
On our dirty little hearts
Shame on us
For all we have done
And all we ever were
Just zeroes and ones

Shootout

The most enjoyable time for me in 2006 (besides Christmas, which was perfect) took place Down South in North Carolina with my gracious hosts Mike and Carolyn.

Regular readers saw the barrage of earlier image posts and now, to wrap up coverage of my summer vacation, I present a final batch of pics to commemorate the trip.

My dear friend Mike and I are both photogs, shutterbugs, snapaholics...choose your preferred slightly-derogatory term. Too, we often share the same eye, looking at things in markedly similar ways. To demonstrate this phenomenon - and give this post some hook - I'm hosting an unsolicited competition.

Now, we'll see just how closely Mr Helms and I observed the same American destinations, tourist-approved or not, and decide, once and for all, who captured them best.

Before we begin, I must point out this activity was not planned, rehearsed or staged in any way whatsoevah. I noticed the likenesses while browsing photos after I returned home, and decided weeks ago that the contest was warranted.

LET'S GET READY TO RUUUUUMMMMMBBBBBBLLLLLEEEEE!!!

ROUND 1 - DUKE UNIVERSITY

Our battle begins on the richly-appointed campus of Duke.

Challenge: immortalize in pixels the architectural detail of this fine post-secondary institution.

Not surprisingly, our two boys from the sticks start with nature's erected monuments...the trees.

Helms leads with a humbling view of a towering structure...



Reese counters with a below-the-belt look at its humble roots:



The Mini Nerd judging panel is ready to call it a tie, but Reese throws a very unsportsmanlike fit. "Don't even think of going up against me when it comes to trees!!!" he yells, tossing two more images into the mix:





Unmoved, the judges let the original ruling stand.

Nonplussed, the infuriated Reese demands another tree tussle.

Helms opens with a sturdy head-on view...



Reese delivers a "startling glimpse of this great plant's majesty, set against a tasteful yet subtle hint of appropriate Duke backdrop" (his words):



Reese's mild attempt at photographic juxtaposition notwithstanding, the judges maintain their tie position.

And suggest the boys move on to images of the actual university.

Helms angles for a continuation of the "towering erection" theme, with an exploration of Duke's church...



Then Reese presents his interpretation:



And now we begin to see the opponents' common approach to their photographic attacks.

Helms swings wide with a classic Duke image...



Reese jabs back with the addition of "a human element":



Helms takes a premature swipe with his sloppily-composed view of Duke archways...



...that Reese slams home with the proper, if poorly lit, framing:



Not to be outdone, Helms sticks with his plan of medium shots...



...which catches Reese off-balance for a canted impression:



Taking advantage of the swaying Reese, Helms serves up a sustained volley that lasts well into the evening hours and culminates with this masterful moon shot:



Reese tries feebly to return the blow, but this is all he can pull:



WINNER: HELMS



(Note: even Reese agrees with the ruling, the above being his favorite Helms photo of Duke.)

ROUND 2 - MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY

With the battle heating up, our venue changes to the Museum of Natural History.

Reese gets things started with a quick, perhaps profane, grab of these suspended whales:



Helms opts to respect the museum's mandate with his family-friendly framing:



Not finished with whales, Helms lays down a solid bug's-eye-view of a floating skeleton:



Reese responds with the addition of "a fleshed element" (namely, Helms's wife):



Helms takes the fight to the terrestrial arena, staying "skinless":



Reese counters with an unexpected one-two punch, getting up-close and personal with Helms's dinosaur...



...and finishing with a hefty three-toed sloth!



In the temperate biome skirmish, Helms seeks to illustrate the transition from civilized space to wild hinterland...



...while Reese remains firmly among the forest creatures with another double-hit!





Panicked, Helms draws Reese away from the feral warrens and into realms of rock...



...but Reese brings along some fleshy humanity!!!



With Reese throwing down so hard, Helms decides to join the enemy and add some human interest (namely, Reese himself):



But Reese seizes the opportunity, turns up his lens, and returns to the animal kingdom!



Helms knows there is only one way to steal this round out from under Reese's stable footing...

By pulling the magic carpet of conspicuous self-regard:



So distracted by this image of himself, Reese is easily pummeled.

WINNER: HELMS



ROUND 3 - STATE CAPITOL

The action continues at this most hallowed of halls!

Challenge: honor North Carolina with the most esteemed photos of its capitol.

Reese begins with an artistic rendering framed by his trademark tree trunk and requisite tongue-in-cheek aside, a "Please Keep Off The Grass" sign:



But Reese is in the wrong country entirely. Here, Helms reigns supreme with a prideful, art-drained, humorless composition:



Demoralized, Reese gets on his knees to honor a statue...



...but Helms dominates with this unexpected overhead:



Reese strategizes to follow Helms's lead in the new cage match, with his first tactic launched in the capitol study:



No matter. Helms easily beats him down:



The skill gap is even more apparent in the capitol library. Reese:



Helms:



Bloodied, weary, Reese snaps an indisputably crappy pic of the "green room":



Helms breezes into another staggering blow...



...but isn't content until landing a resounding uppercut!



In a moment of extremis, Reese reaches a dazed epiphany and manages a passable punch with his realization of the "blue" room...



But it's too late. Too late by far. Helms seals his victory with a spectacular K.O.:



WINNER: HELMS

Asked afterward about the last thing he saw before blacking out, Reese admits it was a "lovely white light shining down on me from above to illuminate the center of my being".

ROUND 4 - THE BLUR

Challenge: to present the best blurred photo.

Reese sets himself the task of turning the tide, and finds hidden reserves of strength.

Helms laughs in the face of these reserves. He starts by capturing Reese at his lowest point, still defeated in the State Capitol:



But Reese calls on his powers of time travel to preserve Helms back inside the tree at the Museum of Natural History:



Stunned, Helms falls back, and Reese drives a powerful left:



Irritated, the judges rule Reese's left jab inadmissable as being only "marginally blurred".

This stokes Reese's fury, and the next round begins in earnest!

ROUND 5 - HELMS'S WIFE

Challenge (set by Reese): get the best photo of Carolyn.

Fighting dirty now, Reese drags Helms's wife into the fray. But he's altogether too cocky from his recent near-win; immodesty gets the better of him and Carolyn ends up as a cursory background element in this otherwise egotistical self-portrait:



Citing superior visual knowledge of his wife, Helms captures her discerning eye browsing a Duke University course catalog:



But Reese has the upper hand! He reveals a semi-erotic suckerpunch of Carolyn caught sleeping beautifully with her dark curls tossed by the southern breeze!!!



WINNER: REESE

Enraged, Helms prevents his wife from leaving the ring and stages his attack anew!

ROUND 6 - HELMS'S WIFE, PART II

Challenge: get the best photo of Carolyn with the opponent.

Flushed from his victory, Reese opens with a decent photo of Helms and Carolyn at dinner in the "Wild Turkey Lounge". Plain are Helms's belief of superiority and also, fatally, Carolyn's disgust at being involved in this petty scrap. Strike one for Reese!



Buoyed, Helms follows with a photo of Reese and Carolyn at lunch in the Museum of Natural History! Reese had no idea Helms also possessed powers of time travel! He's flabbergasted at this notable retaliation...



...but not enough to stay him from producing the deathblow - Helms and his wife seated on false horses screaming their excitement for all to see!



WINNER: REESE

Helms knows it's time to knuckle down.

ROUND 7 - PANCAKE HOUSE

Challenge (set by Helms): prove the trashiness of the establishment photographically.

Confident in his strategy, Helms opens with this revolting ceiling:



Reese stands by his rendition of a frightening drink:



Helms refuses to relent, deepening his assault with a close-up of a product that is recognizably neither butter nor margarine:



Reese ups the gross-out factor by featuring a despicable quantity of the stuff:



Sneak attack! Helms exercises husband's privilege and USES his wife to seal the deal!



Carolyn's repulsion at the Pancake House menu cannot be bested. Feeling cheap, she removes herself forcibly from the competition. But not before her husband triumphs.

WINNER: HELMS

It's down to the crunch now, with neither contender willing to give up a lead. Putting aside the pictographic pugilism, they take up blades as weapons of choice.

ROUND 8 - KNIFE SALE

Challenge: convey the inherent classiness of this parking-lot weapon sales environment.

Helms moves swiftly from the en-garde position to a lunging strike with his inaugural image:



Reese deflects the glancing blow with a clean slice:



Helms dodges aside, feinting expertly:



Without hesitation, Reese slashes back:



Getting to the meat of the matter, Helms cuts to the point:



And though Reese cleaves the fat away...



...the clear victor is the fencer most familiar with this land of abundant epees (and lo, parking-lot shuriken, too):



WINNER: HELMS

After a quick stop at the shooting range, the boys take the battle to the backroads.

ROUND 9 - RURAL REAL ESTATE

Our two cowboys are no strangers to dirt-road mansions aplenty. So the judges set them a task equal to their shared visions:

Challenge: depict with dignity a countryside structure.

Evenly matched, the shooters nail the bullseye right off the bat. Helms:



Reese:



Seeing he missed the crucial Coke freezer, Helms focuses on it for his second shot:



But Reese is expecting that and aims his digital six-shooter for the whole shebang:



The judges deliberate...and call it a--

DRAW!

It all comes down to this. One last shootout. The subject:

ROUND 10 - THEMSELVES

Challenge: photograph your mortal enemy.

Reese upgrades to a rifle and spends some serious buckshot to start - Helms in his natural environment, the motor vehicle:



Helms follows suit and achieves for his first peal across the bow, Reese in his vehicular environment - the passenger seat:



Amping his tactics, Reese loads a nasty gatling gun, capturing Helms's "essential character" (that of the attentive teacher):



That doesn't intimidate Helms at all. He responds with his own vicious rattle of well-placed bullets - Reese's "essential character":



Now it's a bazooka Reese aims at his opponent - Helms in "an unusual moment"; in this case, holding a six-pack of beer:



Helms prepares his dreaded cannon, firing off a load of "Reese in an unusual moment":



The judges halt the exchange!

After careful consideration, they deem Helms's photo inadmissable. Kicking himself in the ass with his own two hands is not that unusual for competitor Reese.

Enboldened, the Mini Nerd musters arms and detonates his ultimate P-bomb, the "favorite photo of a true, old friend":



And the judges have to agree.

This photo battle is OVAH.

Who won?

You decide.

Runaway Pumpkin

I like to keep these digs current, but I'm not finished blogging through my experience Down South yet, and there's still a bunch of past news to note before Mini Nerd drags itself back to the present. But I'm enforcing another (sadly, short) intermission to recognize a holiday of great importance to me: All Hallows.

It runs neck-in-neck with Christmas for my favorite celebratory time of year (make of that pagan/Christian dichotomy what you will), and usually I dedicate the entire month of October to savoring its creepy vibe. Unfortunately, I've been too busy these days to add a 'grave' prefix to any of the yards available to me, and I've no office space to decorate with knick-knacks both seasonal and spooky. So, I'm making do with a Mini Nerd makeover and a few upcoming posts to satiate that inner ghoul.

For a thematic segue - from discussing my Down South photos to some trickery and treats over the next little while - I'm using a pair of images snapped while on vacation with Mike and Carolyn. We saw this post's namesake nearly every day as we sped past him on our way to historic destinations and comic shops galore, and then again on our way home. But not once could I capture him in-camera to my liking, so jumpin' fast was this Jack-flash.

Candy corn in the previous post was a passable preview, but now I'll let good 'ole Jack-O bring home this year's monster mashup.

Tummy Travel

A lovely ex of mine said the following of her trip to Peru:

"My constitution is no match for developing countries."

She got the unsolicited 10-pound slimdown, courtesy of staying in the rainforest. Alas, she also got to see Machu Picchu. It could be argued that's a fair tradeoff, but at the risk of getting kicked in the nuts, I'll refrain from making the argument.

Can you tell I really want to see Machu Picchu?

Anyway.

I haven't anywhere near that level of gastronomical (or gastrointestinal) anecdotes to relate about my own trip Down South. But I did feel sick to my stomach two times.

The first was at the shooting range.

Before you get all defensive and accuse me of being a peace-loving communist with barely one nut in that sack I was protecting from ex-wreckage earlier, recognize I have a healthy relationship with my lizard brain and find suitable outlets for releasing the aggression that is my birthright as a human animal.

Said outlets don't include the shooting range, but I'm sure it works for many on this planet. I say that because after my initial nausea, it worked for me too.

I was massively pumped for this event, since I've never shot worse than an airgun, or, more frequently, an atomic laser pistol. I was all ready to walk in with my fake handlebar moustache, impromptu redneck garb, and an unreasonably wide-legged gait.

Perish the thought of levity in these environs, though, because "gun people" take it very seriously. I was afraid to even crack a smile during the NRA video Mike and I had to watch while completing our written firearm safety tests. I actually felt like the two of us were back in high school trying to stifle chortles at insipid, dated sex education films.

At any rate, we passed and proceeded to spend $60 USD (this is an expensive form of stress release) and churn out quite a few spent bullets on paper targets both disturbing (Mike's, of two theoretical assailants) and neutral (mine, a simple bullseye), at distances of up to thirty feet, and calibers of up to .45.

Good Lord.

The feeling I had when firing a real gun took all the fun out of every cops and robbers game I played as a kid. You pull the trigger, with some effort, and when you manage to get that hammer to hit the cap that ignites and forces the bullet down the chamber and out the muzzle toward whatever the hell it is you want to put a hole in, you get this WOOF of air against your nose and forehead that feels like a child slapping you in the face - along with the WHIFF of a smell I don't think I'll find replicated anywhere else. It's warm and it's cold all at once. It burns and it stinks.

It took me about 20 rounds with the .38 before I could stop shaking and handle the killing tool without fear of dropping it, pointing it in the wrong direction for even a second, loading (or unloading) it improperly...even handing it to my friend, I held it like a piece of radioactive sludge and really wished he had gloves.

Now.

The second gun we shot has a loading mechanism called a slide, and if you "have a pair" (I refer you to the single-nut-in-sack description above, which thankfully isn't my situation), you will LOVE pulling that thing back. At least, I did. I liked it more than anything else I encountered in the building. I pulled that slide, and I pulled that slide, and I pulled it, that slide, dammit--

Boy did I feel like a man.

And for a few precious, unforgettable moments, I let loose with a tight series of rather accurate shots in close succession that did the job for me of making all the noise I wanted to make with my own lungs and vocal chords while picturing certain objects of disenchantment begging for a judicious bullet-riddling treatment.

Yes, readers, I wanted to bellow. Yes, I felt my temperature rising. That lizard brain kicked in. Bloodlust raged through my puny arms and quaking legs as they worked to keep me perfectly still and ensure the accurate dealing of imaginary death.

It was after that I knew it was time to leave.

Also, the three other groups of casual shooters who'd arrived and were blowing the crap outta their paper targets to either side with increasingly louder sidearms were really getting to me. I'd rather jump every second while watching a horror movie, thanks, instead of getting whiplash trying to figure out which direction the potentially life-ending threat is coming from.

In short: guns are serious business.

And they're no business of mine.

On a slightly lighter note, Nausea Number Two:



Mike and Carolyn made the mistake of taking me to Golden Trough for lunch one afternoon, because a tourist really should have "the experience". Truth be told, at least one of the locals in our party had never eaten there before either, and regretted it just as much as I did by the time our repulsive repast had come to an end.

I thought I'd be in the clear, choosing only gentle options such as (supposedly) fresh vegetables and fruit, a little cottage cheese there, some macaroni here. I avoided the stuff that looked truly toxic and helped myself to only two plates at this ludicrous buffet destination where you can eat as much as you can fit, buster, at $6 a pop. I even skipped dessert.

No matter.

My guts were in revolt for no less than two days following, everywhere from intake channel to bilgepipe. Our other Golden Corral virgin suffered similarly. Only dear Mike made it out unscathed, clearly possessing a digestive system of iron.

I leave you with some tasty pic(k)s from this distinguished eatery.


Your appetizer.





The main course.





Destination: diabetes.





A light treat.





What appears to be cookie pizza.
NOTE: in the foreground, that is NOT honey.





I was taught to clean my plate.
Here, I really shouldn't have.




A battleground cleared.
The meal vanquished.
Our appetites conquered.
Perhaps forever.

Time Of The Signs

For some reason, whenever I travel somewhere, I become fascinated with the public signage of that particular locale. It's all the more ridiculous because I pay little attention, if any, to the signs where I live. Somehow, being removed from my everyday milieu makes me more sensitive to how people signify elsewhere.

I imagine these foreigners' own everyday milieus are just as rote and undistracting to them as mine are to me, but seriously...check some of these out. I mean, come on!

PART I - OF COMMERCE

Let's start with a classic.

Apparently there's a Krispy Kreme dispensary where I live, but I've never been there. And I think it's better to view exotic creatures in their natural habitat. Therefore:



How could anyone take this next establishment for granted? How could they calmly drive into its parking lot and choose a space and get out of their car and perhaps select a cart and wheel it into this extraordinary building called FOOD LION without marveling at the singular absurdity of that name?! How, I ask you?



Do you think there is a chain and somewhere, a FOOD ZEBRA?!

Next up, we have an establishment I would frequent often, were I physically located in the city it graces. I like it when a store's name captures exactly the spirit of the product it purveys. Because - I don't know about you, but my wine experience, when activated, is most certainly TOTAL. No PARTIAL WINE for me.



I grew up eating groceries from a place called Zehrs and came to accept it as status quo, but I don't think I could walk under this sign every week to collect my edibles without breaking into hysterics at the poor namesake's John Henry.

Or rather, HARRIS TEETER:



These folks want to make sure they slam the point home as explicitly as possible so you know for sure, this place is a 24-Hour Waffle and Pancake House and by damn, it's open 24 hours, 7 days a week. Make no mistake, mister. I didn't.



This place is probably my favorite. Like its predecessors, it gets right to the point, and it's thematically appropriate too. But note the visual symbolism! The marquee below the establishment name is completely EMPTY, signifying that you can take these guys at their word. Their storage is AMPLE, nothing like the cramped quarters offered by that two-bit joint INSUFFICIENT STORAGE.



You recall me getting all excited about stores that showcase their wares clearly in their titles? Well, this one takes the cake. I'm not even sure it actually has A NAME. But it sure as heck has products for sale, and you're gonna know about it, buddy, long before you step through the door.



This one I snapped from Mike's car window at high speeds as we motored swiftly away from it in search of the sister (or brother, I should say) store, INTENSE MALE MINI.



Lastly in our opening category, we have an establishment that to you may seem unremarkable and not worthy of inclusion with these other giants of retail signage. I beg to differ. This sign amused me most. Certain of you will understand why.

Others will hopefully move on to the next section!



PART II - OF CATTLE

The fine establishment called Angus Barn was where I had my last dinner when visiting with my friends Down South. And it deserves its own category. Firstly, here's the impossible-to-ignore call-to-action seen from streetside:



You KNOW we were going in.

And once inside, here's what we found:



Sounds like my kinda digs. And the EXIT's right there, so it's only a quick lurch to alleyway for taking care of business when the Wild Turkey quotient surpasses the settled stomach quotient and it's time to be thankful for what's out of you.

Plus, don't forget this important public service announcement on your way outta the Angus Barn parking lot (which I INSIST to you is a full city block; I am NOT kidding, the restaurant itself could be zoned as a neighborhood). Speaking for myself, seeing these garish wooden flowers in the full wash of lambent headlights was enough to tempt me to the brink of psychosis.



PART III - OF CLERGY

These require no smartass commentary from me.

I can't possibly top them.







Well, that last one could do with an explanation. But don't look at me! Visit their website! The URL is right there, I dare you...


PART IV - OF CORNBALL

If you're like me, you have a problem with personalized license plates. I won't go on at length, in case you're someone who swears by them, but honestly, some of these personalizers should just simmer down and accept their fates as faceless jumbles of letters and numbers like the rest of us hoi-polloi. Cases in point:


Oh, really. You insufferable jerk.




And my pain.




What the living hell.




I'm forgiving this one, but only just.

PART V - OF CURIOSITY

I'll finish off with the stuff that doesn't really fit any one category but caught my eye nonetheless.



Why? Because it's Bacon Street, okay?






From the old tobacco district.






Why? Because it's different from the ones at home!






I want this on a t-shirt.






Just your average parking lot.






What. The. Living. Hell.






A little reinterpretation...



In the Museum of Natural Science:



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Dog Blog

Behold these beasts:


Cute, no?

I am not a dog person by trade, but I fell for them.

Muskoka, he's the boy.


He's very good at the sneaky eyes.




And he's a mama's boy.




Oh, yes.

Then there's Sydney.

There are three things you need to know about Sydney.

1) She's not very bright.

2) She was not obedience-trained.

3) She cannot fully close her jaw, so unbidden, her tongue is always hanging out. The doctor calls it an "underbite", but Mike and I investigated; to us, it looks more like a "non-bite". She can't put her front teeth together! Thence the tongue ventures forth. Apparently, she's used to it. All I can say is, "Poor thing!"

And...

"ENDLESS PHOTO OPPORTUNITIES!"


What a sweetheart!




Dog killed in freak vacuum cleaner accident.




Here she looks regal but for the tongue.




How can you not adore this creature?




Alas, she won a place on my bed by week-end.

18 Years

Last week I visited with my old friend Mike. We've known each other since Grade 7 and despite a few fallings-out, have managed to retain a lot of what we shared in common as teenagers - which is now "tempered", I suppose, by our fledgling adulthood.

One of those things we shared was an absurd sense of humor, often realized in ridiculous short videos with outlandish characters, excessively strange dialogue, and lots of extreme violence (mainly as an excuse to perform dangerous stunts).

The need for violence has tapered slightly over the years, but the absurdism remains. So before departing from Mike's climes last week, I convinced him to revisit two of our earlier characters.

As it turned out, we were able to work fast and fun and FINISH what is, I think, our only completed video together (as in: fully edited, titled, scored, and exhibited to a theoretical audience - via YouTube, Absent Canadian and now, Mini Nerd).

It only took us 18 years to pull off, but it was worth the wait.

Regular readers of this blog may detect mention of the Magic Cactus. Maybe not as readily, they'd see it as a metaphor for fulfillment - a realized goal, a closed circle, a healed wound. Dmitri Pablos El Grapos, in this video, is aggressively pursuing his Magic Cactus. Big Nose Barney found his last year. Presumably, Barney's departed lover Agnes is still out there searching for hers.

Me and Mike? We found one of our own, in making this silly short:

Down South

To the tune of Tom's Petty's "Down South":

Headed back down south
Gonna see my genius mistress
Gonna ask for her forgiveness
Steal yet one more kiss

Second time down south
Leave the family back home
Humidify my dry bones
Spend a forty-buck loan

So if I play the friendly mooch
Let me sleep with your pooch
I'll share what wit I have
I'm a decent goof

Sleep late down south
Vacation from my rituals
Live off yankee victuals
Old friendships are habitual

Create myself down south
"Impress" all the women
Then try to make my amends
Wear holey jeans and cotton linens

So if I play the friendly mooch
Let me sleep with your pooch
I'll share what wit I have
I'm a decent goof

Foofie plants down south
See companions from my childhood
Who turned out pretty damn good
Tour around their new 'hood

Lazy drives down south
Rundown barns in dead fields
Breakfast meat's a great deal
Prejudices revealed

So all y'all, if I impose
In yer biz, stick my big nose
State my aim, to strip your clothes

Recall I think you rock:
It's your company I chose

With apologies to the lovely Erin, the hospitable Carolyn, the venturing Miguel, the shaved Muskoka, the tonguetastic Sydney.