Monday, September 21, 2015

Yer jowls, shut them: more helpful advice for Andy, via me.

It is the path of the imperfect man to be the author of his torment; with his tribulation being his issue, he is as beset by a swarm of angry bees, unable to free himself from the cloud.

When you're in it neck deep, don't open your mouth unless you want a taste.

Andy rassled over meaning, and worked at criticizing himself, when really his biggest problem was what made him special: he was conscientious in a world that was immolating itself, eating itself. 

I use past tense. 

Because screw you, dogg.

That show has not been on in like ten years, yet I remember: they put him in charge of the place, gave him the prettiest woman, and he got a fat promotion.  9/11 got him one promotion, as his superiors were killed off in the terrorist strike right down the street from the stationhouse.

That kinda sucked but hey, silver linings, right?  So it was kinda good, too.

Somebody needs to walk by and give uplift, and that somebody must have credibility, else Andy will ignore him, like the paper-hanger that showed up at A.A., the sight of whom, that skell he knew from earlier, disgusted Andy.  He tells Andy to listen to the ending, even as Andy is walking away, that it all comes out okay in the end, because the light is always there for us to see, if we but open our ignorant eyes.

Andy furthermore said he was a good fish guy.  He was steadfast at keeping a healthy fishtank.  Bobby Simone had the birds.  Danny Sorenson had the strippers.  John Kelly had his sensitive ex-wife.  Upstairs John had his boyfriends.  Even I had a dog one time, just feeding him extra crap that I didn't want, doing that as an afterthought, but man was that dog loyal.

I'll go forth and build an Andy-size cage.

 

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