After I won six million in the lottery, I kept a diary, for the first week,
I then joined a, naked for Jesus, church. Didn't cost much, less than the Legion.
I met an aspiring writer there seeking a nasty Jim
(I said I was Jim)
She claimed to be the ghost of Elvis hoping to sing a duet with Cher.
The church was having a dildo party that day. It got out of hand though,
and the penguins ate all my beef casserole,
but I got drunk and shagged Elvis, and a contestant from the Price is Right, who was on steroids, and just returned from a strip joint.
(She was just rejected from the World Wrestling Federation,
but the church gave her a job testing donuts.)
Then I met a Jehovah's wetness named Saint Bernie, who rescued me from a postman who was trying to leave his special gift, kept sidling up to me all day long.
After I soaked my goiter in some more rum, Saint Bernie and I walked outside and
found a contest going on. Skipping stones in a municiple swimming pool.
I had to pay for that too, but we talked and laughed.
She told me she was a Libian. I fell in love with her. Then later found out she was a rabid
spy from Uranas. She kept singing this Barry Manilow tune, from her ass, in stereo,
that's what gave her away.
We were still drunk, so we went to the bank in our slinky teddy's and made asses
of ourselves. It was a long lineup, but she flossed my dentures while I read some Rod Mckuen out loud ..
I left her after that though.
I'm still dreaming of meeting my Esmeraldo one day.
But until then, I'll just keep pole-vaulting from church to church.
After all, I am a millionair.