The Age of a Dreamer.

Laughter is addictive. Especially after a particularly spirited binge of The Golden Girls. Seeing those geriatric seductions play forth across the screen sent Gene "Moody Goo's" Gambie into fantasies of grandeur involving bedpans, creamed corn, and Mr. Rogers. And no, no, no. This Mr. Rogers prancing about in Gene's private world, bouncing off his synapses like a GooGooDoll splayed out on spraypaint, was no ordinary Mr. Rogers. This explicitly giddy Mr. Rogers wore a trim, curled, silverfox-white wig, lending him a striking resemblance to Sophia, the swashbuckling granny-in-a-wheelchair who doled out crazed idiosyncrasies to her daughter Dorothy and friends during the all powerful reign of the everpresent Golden Girlz. Sparks fly as Gene gazes into this introverted scene. He makes eyes, Mr. R tilts a hip. He pops a collar, Mr. R gyrates grotesquely. All in a days work, thinks Gene as he turns the TV off and detonates the plastic explosive attached to the VCR. This is the only way to kick the habit. He's been hooked on TwoG for years and those post retiremental fancies must come to an end. He was tired of catching the 5:30a.m. Early Bird Discount at the R&R, tired of those lonely eyes tooling around the manicured lawns of the Mt. Everest Assisted Living Facility. That AARP card was looking too delectable these days and it had to stop. He was 37 now and he would finally emerge from his mother's basement like the undead clawing its way out of the crypt. Though the world had changed in the years since Golden Girls was canceled, Gene felt that he could pick up the pieces of the life he had known and move on. Though he had lost a part of himself during the nervous breakdown that resulted from Bea Arthur's tumultuous decision to move on in May of 1992, he would regroup and quell the festering sores of longing scarred across his entertainment preferences. Adjusting the fanny pack around his waist and flipping his Nike Pumps into high gear, he ascended the Woodpanel staircase into his mother's kitchen. The smell of bacon was like Camelot.