A pickle headed man

I don't want to be no pickle-headed man because a pickle headed man don't get no where in this world. Ain't I right? You know plenty of pickle headed men and they ain't got nothing. They don't do nothing, they don't be nothing, they don't dream nothing, they just is. No a pickle headed man is a fool and my daddy didn't raise me to be no fool. He raised me to be a late bloomer.

Don't want to fly to the moon neither. Everylittlebody wants to send me to the moon like a lonely, goofy goon. Get me out of this world and away from them because they don't like me. Tell me the moon is made of cream cheese. Or green cheese. What kind of cheese we talking about anywho? I don't pay attention, not into details. That's why I made a lousy accountant. But I ain't ashamed of that, you would have made a lousy accountant too. You ain't got no head for figures, you can't do math and you can't breathe in no cubicle. So don't laugh at me Mr. Loading Dock Supervisor. You would have made a piss poor accountant. And how can a planet be made of cheese? Might get kind of sweaty during the day, slippery to walk around. Suffering and starving people from other planets would have eaten it by now, wouldn't they? Like a free buffet? I ain't going to no moon.

I'm just trying to get along. Creeping and crawling through life, keeping my head and my spirits down so's I can survive. Ain't easy, this getting along thing. Boss man gives me money then all these other peoples, they come along and take it away. Mortgage vampire, he takes the biggest bite. He is a greedy bastard and he don't listen to me crying. He don't care about me crying. He laughs at me crying. Then he takes my money and scoops up his skinny, big boobed bimbo onto his yacht and motors to the south of France. But he always makes it back by the first of the month. Tanned and rested, while I look like I been run over by a truck. Tired, wasted and worried. But I ain't complaining. It's a good life.

I dream a lot. Dream about how it's gonna be. Dream about getting my piece of the pie, because I know I deserve better. Gonna grow some wings and fly into the arms of comfort and success. I talk to my buddies at the bar about this. We talk about it a lot. We drink a lot of whiskey. Whiskey helps dreams. At least that's what we agree; whiskey helps dreams. A lot of my buddies are older than me, 75 or so. They been sitting on the same bar stool for a very damn long time and their hands shake. A little. Gotta drink that first double through a straw. After that, everything smoothes out. I'm not sure why they're still sitting on that stool instead of living their dream. Maybe they ain't been dreaming hard enough. They'll get there, I know because they talk about it all the time. I dream pretty hard. Real hard and it gives me headaches. Headaches every morning from dreaming real hard. But I know I am real close to living my dream. Just gotta keep on dreaming.

My knees ache, so does my back. Fingers sometimes too. My heart aches too but I bury that way down because you ain't supposed to express your feelings. It's good to hide your feelings because a lot of times when they surface, if they surface, they come out in the form of tears. I don't know why that is. Tears don't do nothing except to embarrass you. People laugh at cryers. I'm not sure I understand that, it feels to me like the situation is twisted there. Not sure that laughing at cryers is the right thing to do. But I guess it must be. Everybody does it.

Sometimes when I have a little spare change I'll treat myself to a McDonald's hamburger. Happens once or twice a year. Other than that I live on Kraft macaroni and cheese. I love Kraft macaroni and cheese. The hamburger is a treat, though. A real honest to goodness treat. I like the crunchy pickle and the way the bread looks crinkly. Like it's been sitting around for a while. But I know that ain't true. A big company like McDonald's ain't serving no sitting around food. That wouldn't be right.

I ain't complaining about having no money. I know that's the way it's got to be. All the money goes to the fat cats, even though they already have a bundle. I know they are going to use that money to do what's right for me. Take care of things so I can be protected in my old age. They are helping me to get to my dream. Because they are so much smarter than me. Makes me feel good knowing that. So it's OK if I struggle for 55 years or so, because when I'm done I'll have a couple of years of peace and easy living, thanks to these fat cats looking out for me.

That's a fair equation. You can't expect more than that.

OK, gotta go. Brew up some Kraft macaroni and cheese, kiss my cat and head on down to the bar. Get back to dreaming my dream. Because it's coming. Right around the corner. I can feel it.