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My new plan (5 poems composed each week for the remainder of the summer) has been partially foiled by my 2 week vacation to Colorado, which is a smidge ironic, 'cause who can't write a bloody poem in the face of perhaps the most majestic peaks on the blessed Earth? Well, me. I had family and beer to drink. [You drank your family?--ed.] Sure looks that way, doesn't it? I love English. Anyway, I owe myself one right now. [But it's 3 AM, you jack-wagon.--ed.] Well, if I don't write it now, it never exists. I'll post it if it doesn't suck, and as long as I won't be jailed/deported/embarrassed/excommunicated. Which pretty much means you'll never see it! Ha! [Admit it, you let me call you a 'jack-wagon' because of this.--ed.] Guilty. R. Lee Ermey is pretty great. I guess that the brothers who gave us the premillenial dispensationalist nonsense of The Omega Code 2 weren't too bent out of shape by the foul language of his movie career on the whole. Not that I can talk. Furthermore, though, it was jarring to see Michael York (Basil Exposition in the Austin Powers film series) in it as well. I like those AP movies, but I probably shouldn't.

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