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Gone Nappy

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The psychologist was pumping me up for a series of tests. To see if I could compose without goggles at night and losing my bearings.

"How do you propose I solo with my pen if my muse is in between Knoxville and shock therapy?" My forty-five minutes were winding down.

"Could you give me an example of your writing?"

"My old denim awaits with chutney and the flitter mouse looking for the bone?"

"I see!" said the shrink.

"My wife is waiting with a bowl of chutney and the canary is looking at the cuttlebone."

"You would have to be a raving maniac not to understand that! Who doesn't understand that?"

I winked and agreed. "My wife is out of sync with reality."

"Now bearing strange fruit before her eyes and dreams gone nappy."

"Could you splain that to me?"

"I cold-cocked her and she went to bed."

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