I spent yesterday with my eyes glued to the boob tube and the rest of me wrapped in a blanket shivering. Which may explain why my eyes are a bit this morning. I had a hard time getting the glue back off… I also spent the entire day downing copious amounts of juice. And yes I mean juice, no alcohol involved. The resultant was to wake up not shivering and feeling somewhat jovial. However, I would still be more than interested in sticking a knife through the side of my head to relieve some of the pressure. I’ve also determined that the next time I glue my eyes to the boob tube I will use a less strong glue.
Having arisen in a more jovial fashion, I am going to try and go to church to thank the gods that I am still alive. And by going to church, I mean going out to the goose for a good ride. I am hoping that heavy breathing will cause all the shit in my head to go draining out in every direction. Now that I think of it, I better ride in the back of the group…
I know none of you will believe me, but I am actually nearing the end of the “light” reading I purchased a month or so ago, A People’s Tragedy. Absolutely voluminous in nature, but a damn good book. The more I learn about the Russian Revolution the more I am intrigued by it, but even more in the reasons that it ended the way it did. I would highly recommend this book to anyone who likes to know why, what, where and how, or in a single word, who like to know history.
Within the pages of this book, there are a few pictures of politcal strikes and marches. I can’t help but look at the faces of unknown people and wonder about who they are and why they were walking down that street at that point and what there end was (awesome sentence, if I say so myself). The more I read history, which has become my recent favorite subject, the more I wonder about the people who didn’t get their names printed or acknowledged. What were their stories? Why did they not rise to become the one remembered? Was it because they weren’t douchebags and weren’t willing to sacrifice everything in the search for power? I don’t know. I guess I never will.
And now, if you will allow me the allusion, Mr. Pratt’s new brand of Douche, Glen Beck’s Choice, is going to take douche marketing to a whole new world and probably completely revolutionize the product. Any one interested in getting in on the ground level of this breakthrough idea, should contact him directly.
P. L. and R.