I ain't gonna work on Koen's farm, no more

I'm sitting here, wondering if there is going to be another reunion next year. And hating myself for it. Of course, we'll go, but this time it's going to be different: no performing. No jokes. Let's face it, nothing is that funny anymore. Have you noticed? We were lucky that we could have a laugh all those years ago. That night, I thought I was so great I went home and wrote out everything I'd said. Verbatim. I got it out last week and read it. It was godawful. I'm not performing. No way. Tell them I'm mailing it in this year. This is it. This blog.