When you’ve put it in park caddy cornered across Oregon Expressway in order to hop out into the opposing two lanes of traffic to block for the little French Bulldog shooting straight for El Camino Real, paws pounding asphalt with everything he’s got, as if the crosswalk ahead were bookended by pylons… and you’ve done this 37 days after dropping 13K to repair the damn thing ‘cause Elon’s fucking cars are as fragile as his ego.

Y’all just wait for the shitshow ‘bout to start now we’ve politics-as-usualed this motherfucker for two years and our AG ceded constitutional care to fifty individual secretaries of state.

At some point, I may need to know how far in advance MST3K has been plot planning… so I can assess the brilliance of calling back the-mads-don’t-hear-rhyme in season 13’s The Bubble.

When it takes a good five minutes to recall the meaning of your own words. (In this case, every time the wind would blow one of my cameras would swear it saw someone or something. I was giving it shit until I thought I saw someone or something out the corner of my eye… but it was the wind.)

When all the animals are gone, man shall die of loneliness
Unless, before the day doth come, man hath devolved from phoniness

I just realized how many brainy but familiar proper nouns, the relations for which I’ve forgotten, I may muster… and that all those relations I’ve forgotten matter not in the slightest. With punchy language (make-up-ur-mind chars or less), what thoughts might I incept in our Post-News First World?

The word substitution I'm totally claiming as pre-Kota-class progress this morning:

…

What follows is the progress made on the rewrite of an essay from February 2021 that, once completed, shall comprise the book explaining all the sh$t some other f$&ker really oughta have figured out by now. Be better American intellectuals.

On Dragon Weaving

What I Suppose We'd Call the Preamble

Honestly, I haven't a clue why, in February of last year, I found myself pondering the web of dragon mythology that so ensnares the imagination of man. Of how the machinations of my mind materialized the path it would then travel, I've an even clumsier grasp. I believe there is something significant to be found within the folds of fumbled expression held by the essay I had composed. Now, a year later (finding myself in possession of more diversely and formidably equipped faculties), I shall recompose its art and prose, hoping to attain a composition that more capably communicates that which I have to say. It shall begin with a declaration. It shall end with an appeal. Two waypoints shall lie between the beginning and the ending. With a little luck, journey's end shall bring clarity to the both of us as to how and why the path was chosen.

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You won’t have listened to the song… either of those times I linked it. We’ll go over what it all means once the fallout settles. This will be what we said.

Could we maybe stop leaning into the stupid by consistently prefacing common sense with “everyone agrees that what happened on October 7th was horrific”?

Ever fumble the ball just before making it into the end zone? You have now. Your multicultural democracy was within reach. Gen X teed that shit up for you in the ‘90s. The Boomers taught us how to do it. You never saw that fucker’s fist coming to pop that ball out, did you? What the fuck we gotta do to ensure three-points-of-contact are maintained by our ball carriers? This is goddamn fundamental. Your lead blocker Print being pancaked was a challenge, sure… but Social Media lit your ass up—stepped on your face with a hobnail boot and broke your nose. So, now the ball’s out. Adjustments must be made addressing this mismatch; but, what are doing, now? The play’s not over. Loose ball fucker.

… You don’t have to follow me. Only you can set you free

Raise your hand if you find me antisemitic. I bet we could make an interesting conversation.

Kinda weird… telling yourself you aren’t special knowing full well that subconsciously (if not consciously) you totally think you’re fucking special. Like… you’re consciously trying to push back against being a giant douche… but neither conscience nor subconscious will cease calling you Summer…

Which bit of our DNA sequence is it that serves as our unique identifier (and database key)? I want to check the logs. This is a long ass time to wait for what most deem essential. Was my name called while I wasn’t paying attention? What happens then? Is my purpose held for me or simply discarded?

46… just realized why hot air rises… #MentalGiant

I have a theory about the shape of the Satellite of Love in Mystery Science Theater 3000.

What should it look like?

How about a giant knob?

Sooo many spaceships are designed to look like giant knobs.

Then, what if it looked like a pair of those f$&kers collided… head on, so to speak?

The word honestly sure moves about mouths gently for a term that implicitly indicates some proceeding falsification or the suspicion thereof.

It’s like my subconscious is ceaselessly tormenting my waking mind with fits of made-you-look salting that cornstarch styrofoam-flavored meal of unremarkable object shoutouts actively labeling the world refracted by our roll down car window.

Okay science guys, why is it feasible to remove urine and shit (and whatever else we are flushing) from our drinking water but not a bit f$&king salt?

Everything about Frum’s conclusion is wrong. Is 4a, I’m going back to sleep.

…something’s gotta turn out right

It is kinda fucked that meaning uses a buy-in model.

…in silent lucidity

You know how when you become aware of your own voice inside your head… and, suddenly, it’s like it is just there, all the time… and your like, “Guess this is me talking to me… wait, or is it my subconscious… no, no it can’t be my subconscious. I never know the horseshit my subconscious is up to until after the fact. What am I even thinking about? Am I thinking about thinking? Frivolous, drivelous, liquid dish … wait… liquid dish? The first two, okay… but are we just randomly rhyming now? Why did that pop into my head? Who is speaking? Why do things pop into my head in the first place? Must you… I… be so verbose? How do I change the log level? What is the most dreadful, terrible, awful thing you could thing of ever happening to someone you love? WHYYYYYYYYY?” until some time later you realize that little voice must be napping on account of the quiet? My voice ain’t had a wink of sleep in years now. Fucker.

I wonder how many untrue things I could say before someone tried to stop me.