rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Inbred

Thuggish neighbor drives up and down the street in some sort of one-person, un-muffled, open vehicle. It's like a go-kart, but larger-- maybe the evil descendant of the go-kart begot by the Hummer. It's noisy. It stinks. The peace of evening is shattered, the cooling air fouled, and local dogs of good sense bark rage. All I can think is that Ken Lay is dead and Thuggish is still alive. The world is unfair.

My short-term memory is on vacation. I can't remember what happened before I took an unintentional nap late this afternoon. I know I looked at teh Interwebs for a while, and found out that there's a guy who thinks that I might have cousins in Irkutsk and Mozambique and Bali who might put me up for the weekend if I find it essential to get away from my cousin Thuggish for a few days. Maybe so. I'm in no condition to do any thinking about math at the moment. The headache has been a bit more aggressive today.

It will probably be quiet once darkness falls again. I'm looking forward to that. The fibrous legs of crickets make more pleasant sounds than do the products of the factory and the exploding hydrocarbons escaping, through their own destruction, their prison. Humans have a lot to answer for, but most of us are probably too thick to give the right answers. Could this be the result of inbreeding? Hmmm.

Owmyhead. I keep groaning like Butthead after Todd has kicked his ass. UUhhhuuhhhh.
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