gather round, chilun, as i whisper sweet spanish nothings. tis it is a sad story, almost a drama, with a little twist of dark humour. the year was 2001. the day was the fourth. of july. any other months fourth are cold and stale, like chris murianka. ah but i was one of the reported four million people who high tailed it to the parkway for food, fun and excitment. but, just like woodstock nine-ty-nine, water cost 50 buck monies. no, i had no money, that was a given. after fighting a great bloody war battle to get to the stage, alas i was but only 100 yards away and i settled. in fits of exhaustion, i rolled around under the fair jill scott appeared and serenaded me out of a coma. when she left, antsy garth brooks fans began to step on my sad tired fingers. thus, the tounge lashing availed and i was again left alone. when a robot named garth was wheel-barrelled onto the stage, said hello, and wheel-barrealled of, the crowd waned. cigar smoke thickened. almost going home, i felt a presence in the air. no, not doris the homeless lady. the voice of God hollered unto me, "doth though must not leaveth the sight of earthly pleasures, fool. there is still more to this spectacle than you knows bout, so hear dis", and with that He vanished. a sense of ethereal calm flooded over me. i sat on the grass and pondered the meaning of god's usage of "fool". just then, the lights went up and i looked over to the tele-vision. who was this who walketh out on thine mighty stage?
no, no, it could not be... ay, but it was. Benecio Del Toro walked out on thine mighty stage into a roar of applause. not from me, thogh, for thoust was drying the tears from thine mighty eyes. tis, it was strange fate that brought me to this feces hole, it was. and with that benecio yelleth the always classic declaration of independence. this is were i lost it, and quickly. from the boughs of hells to the cathedrals of heaven, mine was the mightiest scream of all that let rip from my quivering lips. and this was the moment that will stand out in my mind forever. oh so beautiful Benicio stopped his riveting reading of the dec, and looked in thine mighty direction. with a flair of his nostril and a turn of his lip, he continued the most baddest (in the best way), inspiring vocalage of the document. and then he left to the fiery display of, um, fireworks.
ergo, i tell you chiluns, rains followed thine mighty vision as we ran home, past the three dollar rain trash bag coats, and the gargantuan overflowing of wet powdered shuga. and tis it was, the glorious vision on the top of the art museum stairs. go forth and spread the word!