Life is a Thrice Baked Potato

It's all a crusty shell with the vague promise of something tender and tasty inside, only I discover it is really just a wrinkly, rattling husk.  So, I need a potion, a lotion, a pomade, a poultice. I need lots of butter and sour cream. I need a trusty method with which to restore and maintain hope.

  We are all planets orbiting our own, self absorbed solar systems.  A thousand and one misunderstandings occur every day, throwing harmony out of whack.  And it's no one's fault and everyone's fault.  Some one simply must be to blame...it always feel much better when we have someone, anyone, upon whom to focus our displeasure. Straw men and scapegoats are the real heroes in this never-ending tragicomedy.

  I'm feeling philosophical again.  Someone shut me up before I raise my voice. x