2002-08-06 - 11:02 p.m.

The tree of knowledge bears bitter fruit. I've tried to turn over a new leaf, dumping my trunk full of trouble off the rails and branching out in new directions, but I've just been barking up the wrong tree like some demented dogwood.

Oak-ay, oak-ay, so I could be putting more effort into it... but it's really hardwood, acacia didn't notice! I seem to have an addiction to making an ash of myself, and yet still I pine for the days when I'd get a sore jaw and sorghums from keeping the words flowing all night long, spouting off old chestnuts for all the world to cedar. But I've got to ask ... what's it all fir? The future just seems so ... ebony. Sometimes it's too much for people to take, and they just want to give me a buckeye, or even chokecherry me. It's a thorny problem.

And yet, I won't lilac ... when I get it flowing, it's like I hold the world in the palm of my hand. Yeah! I'm birched for a leap to greatness! Let the virgins dance around the maple! No longer am I blown at the willow the winds! I am the captain of my fate, and my hand is steady at the elm! Ahhh. Just peachy.

I hate to leave you in the larch, but my pawpaw always told me to know when to stop if I want to stay poplar. He was always telling me things like that. I'd have punched him, but it's wrong to boxelders.

I'd hate to sourwood you on the whole game. So I'll play it safe, hedge my bets. Maybe I'll learn my lesson ... when I'm alder. Or after a swift kick in the aspen. It's something to mulberry over.

All right, kids. That's enough. Rowan home, and don't give me no sassafras.

Oh, and don't worry about me wearing out my supply of playable words ... I've got a vast storax.

Olive yew all sumac, it hurts.

-Wheel Castle, the Original Punisher

*****

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