You remember don’t you?

I do.

It’s two or three things really, but ultimately it has to do with Big Bird…I think. It’s not what you think…though it would be interesting to know just what it is you are thinking. No, I’m talking about the primal essence of Big Bird, with all his veneer stripped away…beaten, battered, plucked bald, tarred, re-feathered, painted blue and locked in a prison train car.

What a horrible, horrible scene – with probably worse connected to it – and you can’t help but share in Big Bird’s complete desolation…almost to the point of jealousy – how free he must have felt to have been so utterly screwed!

‘Musta been a lot of fun to paint him blue though…’ you shamefully take a mental note…then scream aloud, ‘I WISH I COULD HAVE PAINTED HIM BLUE!’ And, as if on cue, all of the other passengers on the train begin looking at you. Too bad for them! This is my dream, suckers! I got dibs!

Now you are mad as hell. Not at the passengers. You’re mad at the people who did that to Big Bird…because YOU wanted to do that to Big Bird. At least that’s why you thought you were mad, but you’re not even sure of your emotions anymore. Looking up, you find yourself on the street already, surprisingly halfway into the village. You are going somewhere…this your only certainty.

Your mind wanders again to the passengers on the train…your heart murmurs…and your careful, steady gait breaks into a mad dash to a yet unknown end. Those god damn passengers eavesdropped on your dream…they might know better than you do! Don’t think! Just go man, GOOOOOOO!

…

An hour later and your mind is empty, carrying 5 gallons of blue latex paint back to your apartment. This…is going to be a lot of work.

And that’s what it was. Two hours later…and you take solace that you are at least exhausted…albeit $173 poorer and now committed to a 3 hour clean-up of whatever the hell just happened…that may or may not have given but an ounce of pleasure…you can not clearly recall.

Never remember…only look back and forget.

In other news, cigarettes and milk are perhaps a worse combination than lemon juice and Crème de Menthe. Let us not forget that.

I’m Thomas K…and I’m not.