State of the Onion got you down? Echos of stupidity playing in your head like some bad 80's song? Had it up to here with "he said, she said...", bad e-mail after bad e-mail after begging after angry retort to rejection?
I have a tip.
Get yourself down Texas way to a spot just west of Dallas / Ft Worth. This little spot is called Possum Kingdom my friends and it's where the journey of a lifetime will begin. You see there's a road there, the road to salvation. Highway 380. A straight flat stretch of asphalt that connects Possum Kingdom to Tokio. The kind of lonesome road that has scrub on either side, dust and tumbleweed blowing across it. The kind you can see forever till the heat rising from the surface wiggles the world in a way that makes you wonder if it will ever end. The kind of road that a radar detector works great on, if a Ranger happens to be on watch.
Head west, kick 'er down and let your mind wander for a bit, cause there's hardly a need to steer. Some many miles down that dreamy black line there's gonna be and un-marked trail that intersects this sable ribbon. You wanna turn left at the rock with the horseshoe etched in it. You are now on CR-121 which is barely a road at all, just a bumpy thread through the brush. But this trail doesn't follow the goose. This IS the road less traveled. This trail leads to a place where all your troubles just melt away, and the issues and the drama and the seriousness and the pressure become nothing but words in someone else's blog...
Fifteen miles or so down this dirt road, there's a lone Mesquite standing in knarled majesty just off to your right. That's how you know you have arrived. Pull off the side cause for sure others are coming, everyone needs to get away sometimes. Just behind that tree is where Paradise takes a vacation. Just behind that tree are the gates to a place you wanna, no, you need to be, and there ain't no Saint with a book on guard.
Twenty paces past you'll find an old wooden frame on the ground. Worn double doors with cracked paint just lying there at your feet. Rope handles blowing restless in that constant Texas breeze. Inscribed in each door is a single captal letter 'C'. You have arrived...
Give the rope a tug, if your mind is right. Give the rope a tug and follow me down. Give the rope a tug and be prepared to set a spell and let it all go.
Give the rope a tug friends... It's Cellar Time.
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