The Ramblings of a Drunkard

"Ach, no one pays attention to what I say!" The man slurred his words, wandering from a pub where he had obviously just spent quite a bit of his pay. "Pay no heed to the insane man walking!" Throwing his hands up in the air, he passed by few people. Entering an empty park, he abruptly appeared to sober.

"So what I say has no consequence? Why not, then, say whatever I wish? Ah, to muse upon life's questions whilst sitting under a tree, is that not a great pleasure?" His questions were directed to the tree under which he chose to recline. With some difficulty, having drank enough to impair his coordination, he finally settled with his back leaning on the tree, legs stretched out before him.

"Not that such pleasures as merely enjoying nature are appreciated by folks these days," He snorted, "Everyone is far too busy trying to find pleasure in great big things rather than the little things. Aren't I right?" He nodded to himself, apparently finding agreement in the silence around him.

"And then there's the whole 'grey' business. 'Life is neither black nor white, but every shade of grey'," he quoted, then snorted. "Baloney. Grey is not life. Life is this!" He flung his arms open to encompass all he could see, and some he couldn't. "Life is COLOUR! It is red, blue, and yellow and every colour that comes from a combination of the three!"

"It is morality which is grey," he said soberly. "The question of whether or not crime is as black and white as it should be. A murder should merely be a murder, should it not? Then what of soldiers, homicides committed by them all, yet they are exalted and honoured instead of thrown in prison? So then, it is perceived, that 'murder' has greys to it as well," He sighed. "So if someone should kill me, is that a murder or mercy, when I have no sons or daughters, nor a wife either. Ah, but I do have a home," He looked around, as if his home should appear miraculously. "A lonely home, but a home my own," Shock appeared on his face. "A rhyme! A poet, am I? I didn't even know it! Oh, yet another!" He grinned foolishly, "Poet, misfit, kit, mitt, oh shit!" He chuckled at his own wit.

"I am a drunkard, a very merry drunkard. Pearls are falling from my lips, no, diamonds they are! Though none would take me seriously, for a drunkard I appear to be, I am so much wiser than any who came before," He sang lustily and happily. "Not just a drunkard, a very merry drunkard, a philosopher am I! Utilizing wit, exercising it, the tangles of life's questions unraveled! For example..." his inebriated brain failed momentarily, then "The chicken or the egg? For the egg is not without chicken, the chicken is not without egg! The answer? Who cares!" At this, he fell over guffawing. As the laughter subsided, the alcohol said 'hello' and he passed out, the world's greatest philosopher: a drunk.