I called my old friends, but evidently they were all dead, nobody answered.
So I phoned my high school girlfriend’s house—hey, it had only been 40 years —and her mother said she was at home, but wouldn’t let me talk to her, not after what we had done behind the bleachers, 41 years ago, in the name, of “free love.”
Undaunted, I telephoned the Pentagon, just to see if they were still in the business of making war, and sure enough, some things never change.
I re-read Lennon and Lenin, one of whom had sung, “Give peace a chance”, and the other who had written, “Any cook should be able to run the country.”
I took a chance, made some eggs, and thought about Marx’s (Groucho) prescient statement, “I wouldn’t want to be a member of any club that would have me as a member.”
Apparently, Marx was right.