Do I stop in Cambridge on the way to Chelsea?
Do I stop in Chicago on the way to Santiago?
Do I stop in a whiskey emporium on the way to the hamburger joint?
Do I pay a visit to the peach-pit museum on the way to the boob-job gallery?
Do I stop at the French library on the way to the Mandarin newsstand?
Do I perpetrate nonsense as someone asks for directions to the nearest polling place?
Do I sip black coffee as my denim-clad galpal shouts, "Myocardium! Pre-Raphaelite!"?
Do I make a thousand-smackeroonie withdrawal from the mackerel-scented ATM?
Do I proclaim to the blogosphere that, yes, it is snowing again?
Do I zip when the President zaps? Do I live in Wrentham and drive a pick-up truck?
Do I give a rat's patoot about the Golden Globes?
Do I visit my friends at Seacrest and mumble Zen koans at tea-time?
Do I campaign for clear green skies and turbulent purple oceans? Do I take to the airwaves 24/7 with my nutball ideas?
Do I go through the shoeboxes in my closet and search for a metric converter?
Do I bemoan the laxity of modern morals? Do I ever give it a rest?