Where is Lady Ms. Kier when I need her?

Groove is in the heart. Thump it with the ass slap crack of a sonic snapstick whip snap whack, my friends.

Who wants entertainment?

Who wants a diary entry?

Who wants a bleeding heart?

Who wants a bleeding wrist?

Who wants a sleepy weeper?

Who wants a bailed out bank robber?

Who wants a line of whispery words?

Who wants a meat-packed monologue?

Who wants a teeny cup of filtered tea?

Who wants a big gulp of laced caffeine?

Who wants to be backstage?

Who wants to be in the LIMELIGHT? The universal dream?

Who met Kramer this week on a 4th street subway platform?

Who met Thomas Friedman in Penn Station?

Who slums in SoHo while inching for precious ass space on 55th and Madison?

Who froze his big balls off today in the coolest city on the planet in the world of the universe while juggling egos and expectations, dodging frozen spit, and buying Thanksgiving coloring books for his nephews at Borders?

Who is reading about Kurt Gödel and Alan Turing and the meshing of their dreams?

Who is striving to comprehend the distinction and blend of reality, truth, perception and proof?

Who is going to get baked tonight with a few friends and funnel a thought or two?

Who wants bacon?

Who wants to DJ some tunes for me?