Meanwhile, Xeno contemplates the dark side of the force, as taught by Maharishi Mahesh Yogi.
---In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, <fleetwood_macncheese@...> wrote : <shower running in the background> Barry, humming his fave Bruce Cockburn tune, steps out, notices the floor got all wet - "let the fukin' roomies mop it up..." "Hey good lookin'..." he says to the mirror, imagining him and Bruce, pals, just like him and Curtis...bros, in a rock n' roll world. He tousles his thinning hair, slaps some Stetson after-shave on his sagging jowls, pulls on his Jerry Garcia t-shirt (signed by the Dalai Lama), some jeans, and shuffles, a little hurriedly, towards that favorite bar of his, "Le Petite Chausser". Sure, no one ever says a word to him, but he's got 'em convinced of his popularity on the 'Net -- a sideways glance to no one, a secret chuckle at the screen, a little too loud, perhaps an escape of laughter, as the ever convivial waitress approaches, for Barry's inevitable third drink order, and inevitable over-tip. Reading a little too much into her social nature, Barry tried once, to explain the "cult addicted idiots" on his laptop. She smiled, but he heard her laughing quietly, as she walked away. bitch. Oh well, at least an hour or two out of his room - "...fukin' roomies - fukin' conformist Dutch - fukin' Maharishi - fukin Steve - fukin Judy - fukin Jimbo - fukin Robin, Share, jr, Richard, Jedi, Ann, Em, Rory, Bob Price, and all the rest of those losers...Ah, at last, Fairfieldlife has loaded, I hate those fukers..."
