Doom and imminent failure on a saturday night...

Our house is about to be invaded by a gaggle of children, all under the age of ten. Truth be told, two of the eggs are ours but I can't help but think my sense of failure as a parent is about to be amplified...But hey, it's for a good cause afterall. Starving grandmothers from here to Lackawana have nought to fear from this point forward. My wife and I are on the job. Watching the offspring of the multidudes who would dance and gamble so that Sol and Doris Dimondehaben can have something other than Alpo and saltines by candle light. Years ago, we wouldn't raise money for the Dimondehabens and their ilk, we'd wrap them in oil skins and park them on the next ice floe that rolled into town...but oh momma can this really be the end?
It's a strange thing...being here, in this place, surrounded by children. Some my own. Not that long ago, I was playing three thousand seaters and waking up with Ms. Right-now, and now I am the god-damned Pater Familis...I find myself thinking back to those days of petit mort and low grade buggery. The days when god was the name for everyone that had the will to get in a van and eek out a living with four strings and an ego problem. Ho-ho!
It was cheeseburger wishes and miller high life dreams, greasy hair and drunken fumbling, after gin sodden nights of opening your chest in front of people who didn't honestly care whether you were live or a k-tel record player. Hoping, above hope, that someone human and warm might let you sniff her panties if you offer to meet her folks and wash their car in the morning...I went to bed with beauty queens and woke up with women so ugly it hurt my feelings.
Moms Mabley never had to worry about an ice floe, she worked Vegas well into her eighties. Scatman Crothers and Joe Louis were both well into their nineties before they decided to call it a day. Hell, Michael Douglas is one hundred and fifteen, if he's a day and he just had a second accident with that welsh tart...
But I digress, I ramble, no need to do that, not here eh? We were speaking of the life of a travelling rock god, not this geriatric weirdness. No worry of ice floes here. Not with youth and vitality crawiling from every crack of the room and pissing and moaning about who took what and why I'm mean and don't deserve to be among civilized folks. Secretly, I'm sure they are looking at arctic ocean currents and the tundra/water ratios. Trying to figure my size suit size in seal skin and how much ice it will require to hold me and my bass...Semper Ubi, Sub Ubi