Slinked skinny Allan all bearded and browed, eyebrowed, browbent, bending, pointing his pencil he jabbed jammered hammered his wishes for the day, the day, the day that everyone makes as if they can write like Joyce or have even read him.
Enjoy your kidneys folks!
I’ll dust down the Homburg and see you there Bock.
I didn’t read Ulysses this year, unlike most other years, and I didn’t go out on the piss for Bloomsday, also unlike most other years.
This year belonged to Leonard Cohen and Father’s Day.
How bad?
Maybe next year we’ll go to Trieste.
Sounds like a plan.