kiwi Fruit

As I sat idly pondering the absurdity of kiwi fruit a thought pecked
away at my cranium. I had it at last, THE ANSWER! The answer to the
question that had plagued mankind since the beginning of time. Now, I
know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'll make some irreverent
comment about where all the biros go. Well my friends you are wrong. I
already know where all the biros go. Be assured that my good friend
Lord Lucan has them safe until such time as the world economy is on its
knees and then we will strike ha ha ha ha. Anyway I digress. I had the
answer to the question. The question of course is does god exist? I had
the answer to that question. I got the answer with a flash of insight.
I didn't need years of walking through wilderness. I didn't need a vow
of silence. I most certainly didn't need to blood let to within an inch
of my life. I derived my answer by the very existence of an antipodean
wonder. Kylie Minogue. Surely, I thought with a bottom as perfect as
hers in the world there MUST be a god. Mind you how does that explain
Mo Mowlem? I sighed back to the drawing board.

* * *

Crushed and defeated I decided to go to the pub, as you do. The White
Hart was busier than usual on this Friday night. I heard Roger Waters
bleating away about money on the jukebox, it was that kind of a pub. I
perched on a bar stool and was soon joined by my good friends Jack,
Johnny, Gordon and bud. They soon left me, as did my ability to stand.
I pondered time. I had found that ten years had gone behind me. No one
had told me when to run. I had missed the starting gun. With a deep
sense of dread I realised that I was quoting Pink Floyd lyrics, which
meant only one thing, I was pissed or stoned most probably a weird
eclectic combination of the two. I stood with some difficulty and
staggered to the gents. Once inside I was accosted by an elderly
gentleman who insisted I open a tin of corned beef he was waving
around. With some difficulty I managed it. The old geezer plodded away
and I answered natures ever more insistent call. I had one hand against
the wall to help me to stand. I hiccupped violently causing a change in
direction of the yellow flow. Once the deed was done I staggered out to
the bar and out into the fresh air. Something was wrong here. Very
wrong. Where was my beautiful wife? Where was my beautiful house? My
god what had I done! Oh bugger more lyrics. I really was three sheets
to the wind. I walked the drunk's walk down highway sixty-one in the
direction of home. I hiccupped and sang my way down Espedair Street and
giggled my way down Sesame Street. I air guitared my way down the
thunder road to arrive finally home at Penny lane, just off desolation
row. After two minutes of deep, deep concentration I find got my key
into the lock and fell asleep with the effort.