Now, when I've had a few drinks, we get to take a spin on the wheel of insobriety. Who will I become this time? Most often I turn into Pepe La Pue. Sometimes I get ornery, sometimes lugubrious. From time to time, my inner trickster comes out. (Shut up, yes, my trickster is inner. I swear.) Last night, I was feelin' the love - but there was no one present who was a suitable errr, shall we say, receptacle. Target? Ambition? Anyway, I decided to help my good friends - who under the rosy glow of a few heffe weizens and a Chimay or two, were suddenly my REALLY good friends, who I really, really love. Seriously man, I love. - to find their own fulfillment, to embrace the rites of Spring to... well, basically to get laid.
Let it be said that I am a terrible, terrible matchmaker. At first I tried to right what seemed to be a cosmic wrong, that
I then set about acquiring the lad that another friend had her eye on for her - and the lad that her friend had HIS eye on. Both disastrous - in one case the lad had a girlfriend and in the other, he preferred girls, despite all evidence to the contrary. Yes, yes, a jolly mess - but not too late to rectify all by making one fortuitous match, right? Alas, it was much ado about nothing - truly "Friendship is constant in all other things / Save in the office and affairs of love: / Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongue / Let every eye negotiate for itself / And trust no agent." At least, I believe it's now clear that one shouldn't trust this humble agent.
So, my friends - my intentions were good. Forgive me my clumsy execution. And I sincerely hope you all