Riding High in April Shot Down in July

I’ve learned that all the fame, notoriety, and money in the world is meaningless.

TV and Twitter, Your Honor, mean nothing.

Everyone wants to ride in the limo with you, but few want to ride with you on the bus.

If we are to understand "bus" metaphorically as "two-and-a-half-year prison sentence", then yes, I'd rather be a solid citizen literally waiting twenty minutes at Shepherd's Bush Bus Station for the 316 to Quex Road than a crook lawyer looking at a deuce and a half in chokey.

 

TV and Twitter mean nothing? Who'd'a'thunkit?

Just for the lulz...

 

Interlude

A l'appetit d'une putain

Fault-il que je mette dehors

Ce qui me doibt nourrir le corps

Pour ung trou qui n'est jamais plain?

Je tien celuy bien inhumain

Qui pour telz faitz fait ces effors

A l'appetit d'une putain.

Pour quoy je concluz pour certain

Que par telz tours puans et ors

Il se rend du nombre des mors

Que veult continuer ce train

A l'appetit d'une putain.

Marcel Schwob; Le Parnasse Satyrique du Quinzième Siècle (1905) p54