People are pounding everywhere, so why write about it? It's not a matter of disturbance as much as it is something about which we can all feel joyful. Think about what used to be cornucopias of joy: the morning paper (stinks now) butter popcorn (microwave ruined it) brylcream pompadours (used to be all waves - now all beach) torpedo chests (OK, still joyous). But all these years after learning about self-pleasure, pounding and ubiqitous pounding. Leave your worries on the doorstep, life can be so sweet on the sunny side of the street. Happy Go Lucky - Sally Hawkins, Juno-like. It's a matter of having the moments mean yes, JBF'd instead of WTF? How simplistic does life have to migrate into to be highlighted by carnal pleasure when the planet's in Defcon Red? I roam where buffalo poop is fossilized under foot but like Charlotte said in Lost in Translation - "let's never come here again because it would never be as much fun". It's gets better, dearie. Come over baby, whole lotta shakin' goin' on. And we know what is meant by "we got the chicken in the barn". Yes, one day it'll be shooting pool with a rope but for now, pounds are not measured in euros but more like sand left in the top of the hourglass. I can derive with the best of 'em.