One of These Fine Days

I am deferred; they have stuck their collegiate nose right up at me. "It's a very dangerous thing to get exactly what you want," the voice enunciates in my ear.

I can appreciate that, grudgingly. But what's the worth of never getting exactly what you want?

This wooden Buddha on my desk is genuinely amused. I rub his belly and he just laughs, showing small pointed teeth. It seems like he sees nothing with his strangely carved pupils.

Should I keep tearing out my hair and risk being ridiculed, or should I shut up and eat mattar paneer when I get it?

Wayne Coyne and the Buddha want to end the conversation, but neither of them will look me in the eye.