Words and Thoughts: The Train, the Stav, and the Shampoo

Hello again, alleged readers!  My time on the train has come to an end.  You know how when you’re holding on to the side of a train for like six hours at a time between stops and your arms start to hurt after a while, but like, you can’t just let go, so you’re just stuck there, and then when the train does stop, you’re like, “where the hell is this now?” because you don’t know where the train is going, and then you just end up wandering around the train yard swinging your arms around because they’re sore from all the aforementioned holding on to the train, and you’re just sorta out there swinging your arms around mumbling to yourself “where am I?” and then people see you and start to get concerned because you look disoriented and confused in the middle of the day and they call the authorities and the authorities start throwing around words like “trespass”, “tranquilize”, and “rabid” and you’re like, “hold on there buddy, I’m not foaming at the mouth over here, my mouth is just dry on account of being stuck on the side of that train over there”, and then some railroad fan nearby hears you say “foaming” and gets all offended because he thinks you called him a “foamer” which I now, after having spent so much time with the big train there, know is a highly derogatory term for an over the top rail fan, and then as you’re just getting your arms to feel normal again are like, “let’s go Choo Choo Man, get the train moving again, let’s get up on outta here now!” and it the ol’ train driver there has never responded well to being called “Choo Choo Man” so you wonder why you thought he’d start responding well now so you’re just stuck hiding from the authorities and the foamers (I said it this time) until Choo Choo Man is ready to get the aforementioned train up on outta the aforementioned here, and then you just sorta do the same thing over again in the next God-forsaken town that inexplicably isn’t in Ohio and the whole thing starts to become emotionally tiring, beyond the physical tiredness you feel in your arms every day, and you just end up wanting to get back home, and you start to ponder life’s mysteries like how a train turns around, and you start to fear that you’ll never see home again and it’s just you, Choo Choo Man, and the train for the rest of your days as you drift from town to town simultaneously aimless, but also with more aim than just about any other mode of transit on account of the tracks which have become an ever present path between you and the horizon to the vanishing point that brings with it unceasing mystery with every passing minute only for the mystery to fade behind you as knowing where you are invariably consumes the mystery of where you are going in a never ending cycle and then you begin to wonder as the “known” evaporates behind you if you ever really “knew” only to look ahead and realize an infinite unknown still exists ahead of you, and if I may paraphrase the great philosopher, Engvall, “Rinse, lather, repeat… you know there’s some idiot still in the shower because it doesn’t say get out of the shower and towel it off”, and I tell you what, I’m not fixing to be some idiot in the shower, so you get off the train, buy some cotton candy on your way out of the amusement park, and walk on home?

I mean obviously you know how that is.  I’m more wondering like if you can tell the difference between the blue and the pink cotton candy, because sometimes I’m positive I can, and then others, I’m convinced it’s kind of an M&Ms thing going on where all the colors are the same.  Truly a mysterious world in which we live.