Ah Bugger

The vapid utterings of a neurotic mind.

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Location: DC, United States

I ain't too proud to bug.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006


On February 16, 2062.
I will be 88 years old. That sounds okay to me. That means I still have 55 years to find the perfect man. The way things are going, I think that might just be how long it takes. Notice how I will die two days after St. Valentine's day? (Marci, it took all I had not to write Valentime's. HA!)
This is how I see it panning out.

Int: Old folks home, decorated for Valentine's day.

Pan in: on small person in large EZ Boy recliner. Notice that for an 88 year old, she is damn fine.

Old Man carries flowers to her.

I have been looking for you my whole life. Here you are, still as damned fine as I knew you would be. Let's love.
That's sounds good to me, you still as handsome as ever old fool.
Together they slowly creep with the help of various walking aids off screen.
Pan to clock. Time flies by.
Pan to old couple, still walking...
Pan to calendar, day goes by...
Pan to couple, still walking...
Int: Old folks home bedroom, you know with florals and hospital bed.
Fade to black

Find out when you are going to die here.

Ahoy, me mateys!

Today be International Talk Like a Pirate day. Arrrr, me hearties! Today be the day where ye landlubbers send me doubloons and booty else I be sendin' ye off to Davy Jones' Locker, deep beneath the sea where ye shall find yer doom! Listen here, ya scurvy dogs, bring me saucy wenches and I be keepin' the cat o'nine tails from your scurvied hide. Bring me sons of a biscuit eater, and ye will be walkin' the plank. Arrrrr! Shiver me timbers, ye scallywags. We be drinking grog and singin' a chantey.
Fair winds!
Buggie Bucchaneer