From: joemahoney1950@gmail.com   
      
   Folks, with Rush on the backburner, or even in the freezer, or possibly even   
   buried in back with the bodies of Latino illegals, what's a typical dayfor   
   Neil Peart, now that he no longer writes lyrics or books; now that he no   
   longer plays or even    
   practices the drums?  He doesn't visit the library (thank GOD!) anymore, since   
   he has no lyrics that require him to do research.  So what DOES he do?    
      
   He begins his day as the rest of us do, with a prayer.  He Neils down, clasps   
   his hands, bends his knees, lowers his head, making himself humble as could be   
   before the Lord -- almost like Trump greeting Putin!  (Except Neil doesn't   
   obtain an erection in    
   the process -- God is Pure Spirit, and wouldn't be able give Neil the   
   sought-after handjob or sodomy.)   
      
   After the intense prayer, Neil catches his breath and wipes the tears (A   
   lifetime of questionsTears on your cheekI tasted the answersand my body was   
   weak") from his ruddy cheeks.     
      
   He then ambles -- he has packed on quite a bit of weight lately, without that   
   3 + hours of hard drumming a night.  Indeed, the only exercise he gets is down   
   at the Santa Monica Bathhouse with Michael.  But that's delving into personal   
   territory.  Anyway,    
   Neil ambles to the refrigerator for a few sodas.  Mountain Doo, Coca-Cola.    
   Chugs a few of the those and pops a few boxes of Pepperoni & Cheese Hot   
   Pockets into the ole microwave.  He gobbles, mouth full and wide open,   
   occasional strands of cheese and    
   saliva dribbling from his wordless lips.  Ya see, folks, without media people   
   around, Neil has reverted to a more feral state; one might even liken him to a   
   beast -- dare I suggest a BEAR?  For, much like yours truly, Neil is not   
   merely bulky and belch-   
   prone, but he has lost all the hair atop his head, while an unwashed,   
   untrimmed, food-flecked luxuriant growth of hair sprouts from his lower face   
   and neck.  Yes, he is now officially a neck-beard, and like all neck-beards,   
   Neil reviles science, physical    
   activity and "learning," instead preferring to sit in the basement and watch   
   Prepper or Alt-Right videos on Youtube.  Sieg Heil!   
      
   After a bit -- say, three or four hours -- of that, he makes his way,   
   unsteadily, outside, disturbed a bit by the wind, the climate, the call of   
   birds, the hum of automobiles -- the sounds of life.  He years to retreat to   
   his Mancave and Youtube videos,    
   but he also knows he has a Patriotic Duty to perform.     
      
   Now somewhat sweaty, red-faced, and winded, Neil makes his way to the   
   refreactor telescope aimed performanently in the vicinity of the Mexican   
   border.  While Neil adjusts the lense with one hand, another hand clutches   
   hard on the grip of his automatic    
   rifle, ready to blow away dusky-skinned rapist, drug-dealer or tamale peddler   
   attempting to cross the border.  Our retired drummer focusses on one spot in   
   particular, where the other day he placed a bag of Taco Bell in hopes of   
   enticing Latinos to their    
   doom.  But for now, the border seems clear enough, and Neil decides check back   
   later in a bit -- with backup.     
      
   Now, Neil staggers back to his house, sweating and craving a few sixers of Bud   
   Lite.  He turns on Fox News - and it's his favorite, Sean Hannity!  Neil   
   guzzles an ice-cold Bud and phones Michael over...   
      
   To BE CONTINUED   
      
   Joe "SPiritual Not Religious:" M.   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)