An Indian guru to show me the inner light A meaningless love affair with a girl that I met tonight

Well, I can't have that, but as an American citizen I am entitled to:

a heated kidney shaped pool,

a microwave oven—don't watch the food cook,

a Dyna-Gym—to be personally demonstrated in the privacy of my own home,

a king-size Titanic unsinkable Molly Brown waterbed with polybendum,

a foolproof plan and an airtight alibi,

real simulated Indian jewelry,

a Gucci shoetree,

a year's supply of antibiotics,

a personally autographed picture of Randy Mantooth

and Bob Dylan's new unlisted phone number,

a beautifully restored 3rd Reich swizzle stick,

Rosemary's baby,

a dream date in kneepads with Paul Williams,

a new Matador, a new mastodon,

a Maverick, a Mustang, a Montego,

a Merc Montclair, a Mark IV, a meteor,

a Mercedes, an MG, or a Malibu,

a Mort Moriarty, a Maserati, a Mac truck,

a Mazda, a new Monza, or a moped,

a Winnebago—Hell, a herd of Winnebago's we're giving 'em away,

or how about a McCulloch chainsaw,

a Las Vegas wedding,

a Mexican divorce,

a solid gold Kama Sutra coffee pot,

or a baby's arm holding an apple?