. . . down at the pub!
You don’t ride the bus, singular, but many buses, plural, that is, pluribus. So did many celebrities before fame bestowed upon them elaborate ways of achieving arrival. Out of many stars, you’ve got one, for example, like Sheila E Pluribus Unum, although if the former Prince drummer rode highways today, it’d be more like Sheila E Megabus Unum. On the other hand, a guy like Kenny G never rode the bus, and his cheez-whiz career suffered when he collaborated with a Watergate criminal, to form Kenny G Gordon Liddy. The befuddled saxophonist attempted a string of subsequent collaborations, Kenny G-20 and Kenny Gmail, which failed to scale the heights of the man’s “Smoothe Jazz Genius” (sic). Not all collaborative works fail, however. Take the diet foods effort by a famous singer/actress—J-Lo Cal—and the diet foods effort by a famous ballplayer/ironman—Lo Cal Ripken—and their resulting collaboration, J-Lo Cal Ripken. Or if the late great rapper, Eazy E, had ever been beamed over to another planet, he’d have probably said, at some point, “Eazy E.T. phone home”, while making an imaginary headset from his pinkie, knuckles, and thumb. You can’t keep growing, in other Gen-X words, but you submerge, instead. If Uncle Sam wants you down at the pub, then you register for the draught. Don’t mistake florescent for day, don’t mistake epiphany for day, day can be inattentive, after all, don’t mistake after all for Adderall. I, myself, seek the challenge of a mass-gathering event. The kind where people stagger around with dark clouds over their heads. Yeah, it’ll be a real Tough Mutter.