The jolly codger walked down the cobblestones

The jolly codger walked down the cobblestones with a crowd of orphans surrounding him. "Now, whose wants to try for this shilling?" He held the coin high above his head. The urchin

was willing to fly in the hot air balloon. "Pick me," he pleaded. Minutes later he ascended high above the rip rap of the street where he was a begger, thief and never noticed.

No one noticed. Old. Single. Homeless. Everyday was the same. Bill Murray walked by, totally self-obsessed then I would die. The worst was when he tried to resuscitate me, his

lips pressing upon my own, and I was unable to come to terms with my own sexual insecurity, even in my old age. One thing that made me sexually insecure was Bill Murray. Really,

Bill Murray's lounge singer schtick was so overpoweringly erotic, that it made everything else pale in comparison. When I am as old as Bill, I will

open my own lounge and sing the theme to "Star Wars" every night. But listening to Murray now made me realize that there were things to do. I picked up the phone and called Sarah.

She was silent throughout my three hour tirade in which I detailed every, even the most trivial discomfort she had caused me. When I was through, she calmly responded, "My name is

writ with water in your case, sunshine. I'm off to the healing sulphur baths of Eger where the baroque architecture will uplift & soothe my soul. Adios." "Good riddance," I spat

, sick & tired of the whole stupid situation. What ever happened to people who could buck up, take it on the chin, grin and bear it? Healing sulphur baths, my ass! I miss the days