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Ryan Scheer |
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NO; I'D RATHER BE AN OUTLAW conjurer of magic player of fugues ministry-of-myself random self-basher drug addict who supports obscure charities. I want to write things that make people think "I'm glad I don't think like that" yet all day I stick with them like garlic under the nails, like too vivid the memory of a car crash. I'll make your head smoke like a cigarette. I contain the Royal Rooster sharp knife with blood ink counter of the saved- all those who hold the other sacred. It is up to me to raise and raise stairs to the sky. You will be a child at the top and life will steal your head away. Go then, four-limbs and no-head; be a politician or muse of the media, which cares nothing for stones of reason and the teeth of a shark among man. Go and find your own way for mine is found, but the path is only for the true and the hurt. IF THERE WERE A TIME TO INVEST IN HOGS, THIS WOULD BE IT Tuesday- Finally got the car out of the garage. This was a daunting task, but not nearly so difficult as it was getting it out of the living room last fall. We still tease Mom about that one, calling her Mom Unser Jr. and such. She knows we're joking, but still tears up when she thinks of the skid marks on the drapes. Ah, life got way more fun when she finally kicked her fear of machinery and started driving. It snowed about a foot last night, which was good because we were looking for a place to keep the beer for the football rally. There's nothing like a jumbotron and 30 drunk men shouting over a game that means basically nothing to humanitarian interests. But that's just me and my little leftist opinions, which Uncle Cowd kindly defers with "shut up, ya turd" when he's stumbling over Cheetos and beer cans trying to do the wave with the neighbors. And all this before the school bus arrives. |