Seems a couple weeks ago I was going to post something "juicy." That was a clever play on words that actually makes no sense when you don't know jack about "juicy."
Juicy is the nickname of the main character in my current project/book/novel, whatever.
Juicy is homeless. He lives in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and is the care-taker/ring-leader/advocate of the city's homeless population.
As you will read, if I ever get done rewriting the rewrites and actually publish the dang thing, Juicy has more character and virtue than most of the city leaders combined. (Insert legal claim here: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and strictly a figment of the author's immense imagination.)
If you like sex, drugs and rock-n-roll, you'll probably like this book. And booze, plenty of booze in it. Remember: It's just my imagination that comes up with these things. I don't know any people who've actually had sex, did drugs, or played in rock bands. It's all my imagination.
The book is no deep-thinker. You won't learn nuthin' from it. There are no clever metaphorical nuances. It will never appear beside Shakespeare on the library shelf. But it's a fun ride. It will make you smile, and, hey, who doesn't need that now-a-days? And, guaranteed, you will never look at those pink flamingos in the neighbor's yard the same way again.
I should probably go work on it now. But, look! Breakfast Club is on HBO! Maybe tomorrow.