Everyday, I tell myself it doesn't matter what Warhol said. Gin doesn't make a man more right in his proclamations.
But it does matter, no matter what I say -- what I wish. The future matters. I can lie to myself about it all I want, but in the end, gin doesn't make a man wrong either.
Dead all these years, and who'd have thought it was his words that would haunt me, not his bad haircut.
There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.