I regularly call upon my muse during my morning walks. Today was just about a perfect day for my walk. The skies were blue and the temperature was in the low fifties. The autumn leaves were showing their colors. I was out early enough to beat most of the church traffic. I figured that it would be a perfect day for my muse as well.

About a half mile in, I set my mind in neutral, which is the signal that awakens Ms. Muse. Three quarters of a mile in, and she was still silent. WTF??

Finally, she spoke. It would be more accurate to say she sang:

I’m Henry the eighth I am
Henry the eighth I am, I am
I got married to the widow next door
She’s been married seven times before
And every one was an Henry (Henry)
She wouldn’t have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)
I’m her eighth old man, I’m Henry
Henry the eighth I am

“What?? A beautiful autumn day and you sing a dumbass Herman’s Hermits song? You gotta be shittin’ me. You can do better than that.”

I’m Henry the eighth I am
Henry the eighth I am, I am
I got married to the widow next door
She’s been married seven times before
And every one was an Henry (Henry)
She wouldn’t have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)
I’m her eighth old man, I’m Henry
Henry the eighth I am

And so it went.

Obviously, my muse is stuck on stupid.

UPDATE: My buddy Sluggo brings us up to date on Herman’s Hermits and the group’s former leader, Peter Noone. It’s a fun read.