Bye Bye The Dug Up Joe!

Wednesday 12:20 a.m.
                                   I was expecting the Dug Up Joe, or it could have been the consigliere. Didn't matter. You either know how to put folk together or you don't. I'm sure the Dug Up Joe and the consigliere would have gotten along just fine. The consigliere thinks the Dug Up Joe is funny for one thing, and that's got to be a first. Compatible, they would have been. But although I was expecting the Dug Up Joe or the consigliere, who was standing there at the door but Brian Wilson, the saint of grossness, the fags sticking out of every hole in his face, the bottles of collapso grasped in both hands.
                                    It could have been a wee bit sophisticated, what with the Dug Up Joe and the consigliere both being non drinkers and dead smart in their different ways, and contemporaneous, though still too dumb to meditate ... I could have looked round at the telly while they had a wee rap, and it would have been so nicety nice, and they would have had a lot to say, and I could have landed softly on the wagon of departing desires.
                                   But with Brian Wilson arriving, the half chewed pig's face hanging out of his crumpled jacket pocket, in the end the two sober folk, who were the ones the gig was set up for, rushed off into the night of sobriety leaving moi to deal with Brian Wilson, and several trips to the off license and the silly non-sequitors like ... am I an alcoholic? Certainly not! That cart you pull behind you with the Chinese joe's liver attached with the wires and clicky beepy things is only your third liver, but who's keeping count?
                                   The Dug Up Joe is the poster boy for some eating disorder, so he was a good laugh anyway. I tried to get him to eat a piece of bread, and he said of course, and then only smelt it from a distance. Then he pretended he was going to take it away and left it behind, of course, like I knew he would what with him only weighing about seven stone and being five nine tall, a miserable skinimalink if ever you saw one.
                                   After the two interesting folk had to run away, Brian and I went to the off license again and then he became incoherent around ten o clock, and I was left with the carryout to finish on my own. This is why you should never socialise at all, especially with anyone else.
                                   Tomorrow I'm off to Newmains to sit in the kitchen with the mother-in-law. They won't be able to get at me there, Jack! No they won't!! Hurrah!

The Dug Up Joe looks a bit like this except half way through the hunger strike. Used to be a nice boy as well. Grief, sorrow, lamentations .... disillusionment, disappointment and despair ... suffering in this life. And, of course, too dumb to meditate!!!