George Bush, Charles Dickens, Rocket Men In Space Dying Slow
Is there anything to say when you are halfway to madness? Other than, hey, where's the rubber room? It is a scorchingly hot day here in New England and I have vowed that this is the last time I return to my hometown for anything whatsoever. I am temporarily living in the neighboring city, which is a much more pleasant place to be. Here I feel incredibly, intensely self-conscious, and get weary of counting yuppies on cellphones driving in SUV's with sunstreaked hair right out of the salon. You see how it is when you're me! And I lack sunstreaked hair, alas.
I have also long pondered the impatience of the northeastern region -- if you are looking for a slow paced, understanding type of gang, for Godsakes hike it back to wherever you came from. You're lucky around here if they are willing to wait thirty seconds for you to count out your change. But, it could be worse. I could be in that Ray Bradbury story where the rocket ship explodes, all the members of the rocket ship are left to float in space, and they each die, slowly and painfully, as the atmospheric pressure rips off their body parts. It's a helluva story, actually! You see how it is when you're Ray Bradbury.
Anyway, all that aside, why haven't we seen Suri Cruise? Is anyone else wondering this? DOES this baby exist? Stay tuned. I also spent last evening watching Larry King Live with a very intense possibly lesbian (not that I give a shit) Italian woman who writes for a Spanish magazine. We ended up having a fine conversation about life and religion, and entertained ourselves by musing on Bush's complete lack of skill with the English language. He seemed a bit more with it this time, although most of the time he looked like he was desperately foraging for anything remotely coherent to say. Laura Bush just sat serenely, like she'd just had the greatest colon cleansing of her life. All in all it was a most entertaining spectacle. I still don't understand why we invaded Iraq, and I still think Bush is happiest on his ranch. Riding horses and reading Dickens. You see how it is when you're an intellectual!
Ah, sarcasm. The joyous joys. Life here is a struggle, my friends. Hard and tough and very unstable, but I return to you to make some sort of sense of all this bullshit. And the Wellbutrin is my friend. Ah, indeed.
May all your days be merry.
I have also long pondered the impatience of the northeastern region -- if you are looking for a slow paced, understanding type of gang, for Godsakes hike it back to wherever you came from. You're lucky around here if they are willing to wait thirty seconds for you to count out your change. But, it could be worse. I could be in that Ray Bradbury story where the rocket ship explodes, all the members of the rocket ship are left to float in space, and they each die, slowly and painfully, as the atmospheric pressure rips off their body parts. It's a helluva story, actually! You see how it is when you're Ray Bradbury.
Anyway, all that aside, why haven't we seen Suri Cruise? Is anyone else wondering this? DOES this baby exist? Stay tuned. I also spent last evening watching Larry King Live with a very intense possibly lesbian (not that I give a shit) Italian woman who writes for a Spanish magazine. We ended up having a fine conversation about life and religion, and entertained ourselves by musing on Bush's complete lack of skill with the English language. He seemed a bit more with it this time, although most of the time he looked like he was desperately foraging for anything remotely coherent to say. Laura Bush just sat serenely, like she'd just had the greatest colon cleansing of her life. All in all it was a most entertaining spectacle. I still don't understand why we invaded Iraq, and I still think Bush is happiest on his ranch. Riding horses and reading Dickens. You see how it is when you're an intellectual!
Ah, sarcasm. The joyous joys. Life here is a struggle, my friends. Hard and tough and very unstable, but I return to you to make some sort of sense of all this bullshit. And the Wellbutrin is my friend. Ah, indeed.
May all your days be merry.
posted by lakeofthelongsun72 at 2:13 PM
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