1) I found a website that describes the band Would-Be King as "a good prog-rock band" that "didn't hit it off well with the local arbiters of taste". This statement is similar to saying that Adolf Hitler was "a good basketball player" that "didn't hit it off well with the local arbiters of Judaism".
2) I know, you think that smell is coming from a fourteen-year-old 4H goat herder, bedecked in fat-assed jeans and Garth Brooks "Sevens" tee shirt, getting to third base with a drunk Idahoan carney. You're right. The Washington County Fair arrives later this month. Too bad that current cultural trends turns"white-trash mulleted bumpkin" sightings into "meth addict" sightings instead. Some things get lost in translation; we'll always have the Ferris Wheel, though.
3) Both my sister and my mother asked me, to make certain, that I didn't try to kill myself yesterday. I assured them that I did not. This is the truth. And it had nothing to do with the thought of Prime Cutz' hot, furious piss soaking six feet down to my coffin. But, seriously? When my sister asked, "you didn't do it on purpose, did you," I did think to myself, "Good Lord, if I die from taking the wrong insulin and people thought I killed myself? Some of those people would pee on me. I know for sure of one."
4) I have three other words to say. The first word is "little". The second is "math". For the sake of the living, and the lives we now live, I will not say the third.
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