I was there at the beginning, when the first corpuscle came ashore, heaving. I was there when they said many a mouthful, more than enough for a month of sundays.
The word was, she would bend over backwards to do you a big favor. He was a unitarian from the get-go, they said, and a pleuralist for the tobacco lobby. She was declared queen of the countdown at T minus 10.
He never knew his place, but they always set him a spot at the table. That shit-eating grin was as plain as the nose on his face.
She could smell a rat, as the snake was her mascot. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she’d know it when she seed it. The rest is history.
I was there at the end, when the last act of legerdemain petered out. I raise my glass to the good old days, and pray to google that my very words might be immemoralized. Or at least kept in the cache at the national security agency, until the clouds begin to gather.