No, as a matter of fact I DON’T want to talk about the Stanley Cup playoffs.

Yesterday was Cinco de Maio so I met my mom after work at this cool place called Sunset Grill. She had margaritas; I had Coronas and an incidental shot of tequila. We ate some fantastic jerk shrimp, chips and salsa/black bean dip and (be still my heart) crabby patties! It turned out to be real crabby patties made with crabs, not the kind Spongebob makes but they were pretty good anyway.

My decision to abandon corporate America to pursue a career in punk rock is progressing nicely. Since one can hardly build a career upon one song (well, I guess you can if you’re Smashmouth but I was writing about me), I have already written another one. I call it “Jeremiah’s Demise” and it’s dedicated to Nancy’s friend Sandy.

I headed down to Kingston to hear this funky reggae band
Drink some sweet dark pirate rum and walk along the sand
Then time came for me to leave, as time will often do
But when I got home I had to cry - dead frogs in my swimming pool

Chorus (repeat 2x)
There’s a dead frog in my swimming pool
And tears dried on my cheeks
There’s a dead frog in my swimming pool
And boy that water reeks
There’s a dead frog in my swimming pool
Why don’t they stay home in their creeks
There’s a dead frog in my swimming pool
And boy that water reeks

There’s a fat one in the filter and I can’t get it to unclog
Mass suicide transpires in the Unholy Cult of Frog
Don’t know what I did to them - can frogs just get depressed?
Or karmic retribution cause dead frogs in my swimming pool?

(Repeat Chorus 3x and fade)