Curmudgeons Anonymous

I thought about going to a support group. I looked into it in the yellow pages and other outmoded data sets. I came upon a strange group of surly Sues and churlish Chads. We sat around and made high-pitched whines for about an hour. It was a pre-verbal kind of vibe. Some of us barked. We were all royally pissed off by something or other but no one was allowed to say what. That was the beauty of it. In Week Two, we harmonised and made a lovely Whingey Symphony. A person from an Adult Ed course down the hall put their head round, looking for their dog, Brian Eno, who had strayed. We went full-scale Allegro con Moans. We premiered our Suite for Gasps and Tuts and Clicks and Oufs and Sighs and Wails and Growls and Grrrs and he staggered back in the collective blast of our exasperation that definitively proved neither Brian Eno the producer nor Brian Eno the Scottish terrier was anywhere in that room.