Bit by Lightning

Where does inspiration strike in the night? A spring rain is, in fact, only a mist and disappoints the thirsty clays and mosses. I think I'm probably the first to turn that phrase which is only cool if it sorta works. And I think it does. I'm open to suggestion, to a limit so my shields are down and I'll accept the arrow of the Cupid equivalent that shoots inspiration. Wow, that got away quickly.

The Braves are off to a bludgeoning start, but many games now I must listen to the banal dronings of Chip Caray. Waah! What happened to the soothing voices of summer, the homespun highjinx of Ernie Johnson and Skip Caray and Pete Van Weiren, to a lesser extent. I then grew to love Don Sutton who erased any ill will accrued when he was a Dodger. Now they've handed the keys to the kingdom to the nightmare spawn, the grinning jester that has the king's ear and is hated by all the castle. Ugh.

My own skull stares back at me but no Judgement will be handed down because all are welcome in the light of the flashbulb and I hope it arouses the fire of my innermost soul but more likely I'll wake up to raisin bran crunch in the early afternoon and there ain't a damn thing wrong with that.