Ideas come with no charge, like rain. Or think dirt. It isn’t worth shit until you have a stick. A girl says to me: Let’s get a website. She thinks she has an idea, like - let’s get a phone –I hear you can talk to people without having to look at their face. I have an idea too. Let’s go to LA just by scratching your ass. I have another idea. Why don’t you get on your bike and go make some deliveries.
I stopped in at the Rectory, where they have this preening ass who just got there. He hasn’t a clue why we never get a parking ticket, why the streets get plowed first, or why the church got re-built after the fire. We had over ten million in cash before the firemen shut the plugs, and that was over 40 years ago. But this guy thinks all the answers are back in Minneapolis, and we’ve just been waiting a hundred years for him to get here.
He told me he replanted the garden. I told him to go fuck himself, because I know who replanted the garden. I sent over some sandwiches, which means I did more to re-plant the garden than that sorry son of a bitch, and all I did was put a little meat on some bread for the poor bastards who did all the work. And believe me, without Sister Mary Martin, God only knows what it would look like. Yet this toupee had the guts to take the credit. Naturally, when I told him to go fuck himself, he was at a loss for words. So I managed to add that ‘we’ I can accept, being as he says Mass. But this ‘I’ bullshit is just that, Father.
