...all I'm asking for...

...all I'm asking for...a couple times a year...oh Lord...

...Not Yoko, the better smelling half of the indie-rock slash gangsta rap duo We're Not John and Yoko, brought to my attention (me being Not John) what is most important in life - - the small things...we were kickin' it on this lovely Saturday July summer day, after a late night out with friends and other people who think that we are friends...Facebook has blurred friendship so much that even "THAT" guy thinks I am friends with him..."THAT" guy enjoys pulp in his OJ (Simpson) and I cannot trust anyone that enjoys a meal and a beverage simultaneously...eat then drink...or, drink then eat...If you wondered why you blew up the office bathroom so badly the night of the Office Christmas party that the stank still lingers...well, the answer is because you ate and drank at the same time...I think...anyways, you are getting off topic...the small things...and, well, trust...I cannot trust anyone that doesn't enjoy what Not Yoko brought to my attention while we were weighted to the bed this whole day, nursing the mixture of too many beverages, lack of sleep and Chinese take-out...and come to think of it, I have not had this enjoyment in a long time...all I'm asking for is...a couple times a year...for earwax to fall out my ear...I do not know if that has been pronounced as a national past-time, but for centuries motherfuckers have been overcoming the blues by realizing the enjoyment of the "small things"..."If only 'She' could," the small footed man said...small things - like the enjoyment of earwax falling from ones ear unexpectedly...tell me you have never experienced this enjoyment...and I'll tell you I am looking at a lying-man. While Abe Lincoln was contemplating how to save The Union, stress built up and so did wax up on in them ears...he loved this country...he saw that the continuous of slavery could be the downfall of the nation he was elected to run...but he was "honest"...with others, and himself...so honest, he should have been nicknamed "something" to convey this...he was torn...honesty told him he enjoyed his slaves making him Strawberry smoothies, and providing him late-night bedtime stories and rub-n-tugs that only "friends" could provide...so the legend tells...depression hit...he even started drinking OJ...with pulp...he needed an outlet...he should have gone to the Nike outlets...they have great sales on sweet sneakers that 12 year-old "slaves" stitch to perfection...One day Abe awoke, much like We're Not John and Yoko did today...he walked to the kitchen...looked in the fridge and asked his slave to pour a "tall" glass of OJ...sipped it...and...earwax fell upon his shoulder...he took it off his shoulder...examined it, rolling it between his thumb, pointer and middle finger...word is he even tossed it in the air and caught it a couple times...then tossed it in the fridge at the carton of pulped-OJ...smiling...enjoying the little things...

...Abe realized..."He didn't?"...he realized the OJ needed to be freed from this pulp...just like the slaves from their owners...the little things people...all I'm asking for is that earwax falls out my ear a couple times a year...a rhyme that only a non-pulp drinking motherfucker could create...the small things people...the small things...a belief an Irishman has to prescribe to.