captain my captain

Oh, how I love you Mista Morgan. And it's Thursday, our date night. You're one yummy bitch with a little Mountain Dew to disguise your strong opinions.

http://www.davesdaily.com/pictures/120-getmeout.htm

I think that's how my mother found me. In some dingy by the wayside Mexican restaurant where the machines barely even take the quarters anymore and the cockroaches are just part of the ambiance. I think she doesn't doesn't want to tell me that I am an orphan, a random victim of the meaningless grime crimes that run rampant in Guatamala. Those god damned nuns.

How I got to Mexico, I'll never know. I suppose I hitched a ride with those midnight trucking faeries. Maybe some decent drunkard thought I was the worm at the bottom of the bottle. All I know is the next thing that poor family owned and operated restuarant knows is there is a little white orphaned child from Guatamala sitting inside their toy machine.

I'm sure at first they were going to take me out but then, hey, you know how it goes. What would Jesus do, right? So they left me in there while all the Mexicans around tried to get me out with their quarters.

So I dreamed that Frau Far Bissina, my horribly balanced and atrociously adorable hamster, had the voice of the woman travel agent at work. Imagine the Hollywood agents circa 1950 with the gravelly voice that dealt mainly with porn stars or little people. Or both.

Either way she was telling me not to eat all the cheese because the penguin in the ice box wanted some.