Forty Cents on The Dollar

Archibald y ou old rattlesnake. I k now your heroine habit ias merely recreational. If anything you need a good lay, a street fight, or a friendly game of Soccer played with Young Americans. I guess these things aren't easy for pussies like you to come by so you decided to go the pussy route and enter rehavb. I won't deny that I love you but I will say that you are a coward. I know for a fact that you've never built a Snowman or walked across a state. In my eyes that is a Pussy. PUSSY! Get out of rehab and help with this here blog.

As Curtis Grandy Granderson so eloquently stated we are living in an age devoid of plate techtonics and debauchery. I wish random sexual encounters were part of the everyday vernacular but they're about as common place as wooden swing sets. We live in quite the boring age. No one mills and no one plants.

When the nights get lonely I wonder what it would be like to find my own fooid. I picture my Dartmouth self wandering through the woods picking out assorted berries and finks. I see my Dartmouth self picking old meat off a particularly juicy Yak (in my fantasies I am always a Sherpa). I see my Dartmouth self wandering the village parameters while gorging himself on eyes, fingers, knees, and toes, knees and toes.

I guess my Dartmouth self listens to Raffi. I guess all of us do in some facet of our subconscious. This is a good thing. I imagine this is an innovation along the lines of the chain saw.

The modern world is a slight bit purtrid, and more than an iota easy. I guess that's why General Mills has still existing cereal. Everyone knows Frosted Flakes blow. The common knowledge is that they are far from satisfactory, yet we all still eat their bullshit. I don't care how good that "Road To Wellville" film was. I don't want to taste America. It is bland and without any taste of India. I would like to taste India in my breakfast cereal.

Everything is so easy. Everything is so hard. It's near impossible to ask people human questions.

I'll be in my mobile home writing novels about Tractors.


" Gerry the Tractor shone under a bright, yellow sun. He was tilling a field with his sharp blades a cutting. He tilled til there was corn for everyone. He was a good tractor. A good tractor with a dark secret. "

A BIG WHATEVER TO FREEDOM. It is no longer worthwhile to be American. At least it is no longer entertaining. the music of chance no longfer plays in my quarters. I would have to be a refugee or ridiculously rich and French to lead the kind of life I want to lead.

Here's to refuge and/or baguettes!