Aardvark II

Why shouldn't we? Post, I mean. We should. (How utterly simplistic, eh?) It's simple: get some Percos(c?)et. Get some valium; grind the valium into the Nutella. Eat hearty. You're calm. (It eats the Nutella or it gets the hose again!). Now the fun begins: take some bennies. You're racing. But you're calm. You're zooming; streaks asplode. I posit a neurological cataclysm. And why shouldn't I? Posit, I mean. Speculate, you know? Because I just see this flower of mysteries. I once wrote sitcoms. And fantastic soap operas. I went all Kaufman brothers from Adaptation, except no masturbating to book jacket photos. Only discorporeal photos count. And once we wrote this ridiculous screenplay with the following premises:

(1) A couple that lives together has broken up.
(2) Neither of them can afford a single apartment.
(3) It was a really, really bitter breakup.
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(C) Sitcom shenanigans!

And it went to pg. 37, but pp. 32-34 were filler. Only Act 1 finished; we barely reached plot point one before the course was over. And we never even touched the vodka. We thought we needed it.

I humbly call shenanigans on laziness! On stumpy McStumperson and dead tracts like so many wilted forum threads. I submit this is not a fad but a trans-generational steamroller. Phoenixes rise from ashes. Models break noses. Catheters sometimes don't fiit right. Indie rock is sometimes boring. Genes were not meant to be patented! And sometimes redemption is exactly like Dostoyevsky described it in Crime and Punisment (last page).

Go read some Vonnegut.

Go read some Bible.

Go read some auto-hagiography.

Go draw something you feel ambiguous towards.

Go!

Go read books that go three to the dollar!

Go drink!

Go Google Image Search!

Go look under rocks!

Shenanigans!