Epiphany Ruined

To the remaining 2 or 3 readers of this dark yet truthful sketched oracle that have not abandoned the virtual ship in the 4 weeks since I last posted something, I will reward your patience with many hugs and kisses — but only of a professional kind, you know the ones on the cheek, like at a family gathering where you have to kiss that aunt who wears too much makeup and perfume, and then, thank heavens, only the cheek skin touches, and you’re off like a flash to the dessert table?

Now I have been accused of many things. Perfidy, sloth, greed, envy, poor table manners, sub-par kissing skills, sugar addiction, excessive profanity at formal events, having spinach between my teeth, poor posture, amateurish dancing skills, poor penmanship, questionable fencing skills and not to mention of messy desk-keeping.

While all of those things may have a grain of truth to them, well, maybe a satchel of truth. OK, a duffel bag of truth, but that doesn’t prevent me from providing you with the thought leadership on things of a cartooning (or is that cartoonish?) nature. Things like what defines and is the source of creativity? Usually it’s a smallish gene pool or some intermarriage. Or very close proximity and easy access to the cabinet where they keep the cleaning products or medicine cabinet with the tasty cherry cough syrup they pulled off the market due to excessive alcohol and codeine content. Or in my case, living awfully close to the high tension wires, while mom cooked with aluminum pots and pans, while she left me close to the microwave as it cooked her cauliflower.

Some people have genius in their soul. Like Thomas Edison, Leonardo Da Vinci, Steve Jobs. Or one of my cousins who painted the bathroom walls in his own droppings to express his inner self.  He’s in therapy. Others learn to be creative through exposure to many media, like music, art, food, alcohol, and by realizing they have no future in accounting as their grade 4 math scores indicated at an early age. Sometimes it’s just sheer desperation that is the mother of creativity. Or being short in a tall man’s world.

But I digress.

The path to creativity is never clear, but one thing is for certain — that inflatable unicorn hat for cats is real. Swear to God. Check it out: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/09/21/inflatable-unicorn-horn-for-cats-photo_n_1901789.html

It will be my duty to provide you with unending creative wit, imaginative prose, unforeseen plot twists and at least a post once every week or so, providing I ignore my wife and children more than I usually do. I know, you’re rooting for me.

Many warm and sticky returns,

The Vicious Aloysius (my wrestling alter ego) Druker

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