THE COMEDIAN AND HIS MUSE (continued)<br/><br/>I'm not sure where Dion went, he isn't at the bar right now, but Thalia has got me firmly by the hand and she's leading me through the lounge like she knows where she's going.  This is crazy!  Did I go over my four glass limit?  How would I know?  No, this is really happening because I'm keeping my balance, I remember how much I've had to drink and I feel more alive than I have since..., ever!<br/><br/>Thalia wants to see me up on the stage at Dion's, tonight.  If she can get me there, it's..., it's..., the realization of a dream that I thought I could only imagine.  This is shaping up to be a miracle come true.  Is she really the Goddess of Comedy?  I'm starting to believe it.   In my head, I'm starting to hear the Monkees singing, 'I'm a believer'....  And if all this is true, I've just promised to worship her for forever.<br/><br/>I've seen her from the front, the lovely face framed by the golden hair, the lovely dark eyes, the perfect breasts beneath the silk dress, the legs she crossed as she sat on the bar stool.  As I follow her, I see the back of her hair, her shoulders, her waist, her perfect-perfect behind.  Yes, I think I could worship her and count myself the luckiest man on the Earth.  And after I perform, she wants to spirit me away to her room.  It's an old cliche, but I'm going to think it anyway, 'Have I died and gone to Heaven?'.<br/><br/>Cats?  Bad hair days?  Maybe I won't last for forever.  Maybe I will, if she can swing it.  I'll take my chances because now I'm sure I love her.  Even before I met Thalia in the flesh, I think I've worshiped her by trying to be funny and loved her all of my life.<br/><br/><br/>(to be continued)