Free Work

I am drunk. I know, I know. As an employee of the Untied States of Amercia, only the greatest planet that God ever bestowed his fist upojn, I should set a better example. I really should. I tried to. In fact, I drank the wine out of a paper sack in case anyone may have reconized me and wondered what a Godfearing man is doing in a park without his shoes, but theres times when I feel so down about not having insurance to pay for my eardrum and loosing my job while I was incarnicated in jail, and bills just piling up, and if you think I'm going to steal from my mother's social security check, you've got another think coming!! I am poor, my crotch is soggy, and I have been escorted from two parks. Thank GOd for libaries! Free internet. I LOVE libraries. And I love Mr. George. Love, love, love him. Sometimes, I love him so much. I love him so much that I imagine being him. Someone who can just stand in front a people, blink his eyes a few times, and then saying things. I feel warm and

March Madness

My interest in politics has subsided somewhat of late. With my broken eardrum, I feel as though my entire brain has been pushed to one side of my head, and I find myself taking circuitous routes along even a straight path, as if I were caught in a spirograph. I no longer think in a fair and balanced way.

When the brain fails, there is always sports to turn to. I filled out a bracket on one of the sports sites, and I have Utah State winning it all. I like college basketball because most of the kids seem to care about whether they win or lose, and many of the prominent players are white kids. When I watch an NBA game, I see a bunch of disinterested, self-absorbed black players and a few pimped-out Europeans, but where are the heros who represent me? I would like to see a white player dominate a game, a white player who maybe drinks too much but promises hospitalized kids that he'll drop 50 points against the Knicks, and then he does it, by God! Go Utah State!

Spam and Water Boards

Mistakes happen. I'm trying to take a Zen approach to this whole sordid ordeal. There I was, minding my own business in the White House garden, mentally preparing myself for the second debate between Mr. George and that housedog-of-a man John Kerry, when all of a sudden my world turned black with tiny white spots. When I came to, I found myself cold and wet and naked, strapped to a water board somewhere in Cuba. As I felt myself being lowered up-side-down into the icy water, I shouted "I'm an American! I know Karl Ro-" before the water stifled my cries. What seemed like two minutes later, I was raised from out of the water. A man speaking Arabic with a thick Spanish accent punched me just below the rib cage and spoke in crazy jibberish. I can wrote no more of this. For the last few months I have been locked in a tiny prison cell, beaten and assaulted on a regular basis by my fellow countrymen. And countrywomen.

If there is a silver lining to this black cloud, it's this -- the U.S. government knows how to torture and extract information. I told them everything. Everything! I told them about petty cash at the A&P, I told them about the pumpkins and Mrs. Butterfield, who was married and lonely and soft to the touch, I even told them about the government-owned gardening equipment in my apartment. While I knew that I was being tortured for no good reason, I took comfort in knowing that many of the people in prison were being tortured for a good reason. I am but a tree in a large forest. A tree with a soggy lungs and a broken eardrum, but more importantly, part of a forest. A forest that has some miserable trees being beaten and raped, but a large and thriving forest nonetheless. I have moved on mentally, and I am ready to resume my gardening roles.

Please, dear reader, forgive my absence. I promise that it will never, ever happen again.