Hey gang!

Now that Summer's finally coming to a close and President Obama's healthcare reform is at full tilt, I believe it might just be time to take stock of who we are, as individuals and as a nation. Then sterilize ourselves with toothpicks while being shot at and exploding.

Let me back up.

I mentioned Life Panels in another post, but I don't think anyone's taking it seriously. Well, ignore me at your own peril, because unless the healthcare system changes dramatically, everyone loses, and we're gonna have to grow gills.

So, I'm giving you this opportunity to convince them of why you, regardless of age, gender, race and creed, shouldn't be heaved into a wood chipper and used as mulch, instead of breathing our rapidly deteriorating oxygen supply, washing down your Funyons with Pabst Blue Ribbon. (And dangling participles.)

What do you bring to the community table, besides that collection of mutual failure and defeat you call a family? Anything? Now's your chance to save yourself, because in order to salvage what little is left of our chance of survival, they're gonna get all up in your grill and go "Mark Of Gideon" over your sorry ass.

Tell us why you matter. My dear friend, colleague and creator, Tom Robbins, a government certified Life Panelist, will evaluate your "life value", and determine whether or not you get hauled off to the Compost Tumbler to take a spin or 2. Again.

He'll reply with a simple eom: "Mulch"; or "Not mulch". Then there will be a knock on your door. Resistance is feudal, literally.

Here. I'll go first.

1.) I grow enough tomatoes to feed my entire neighborhood block for 4 months on 1/4 of an acre. (Possibly a lot more than that on 12 one day.)
2.) My carbon footprint is virtually non-existent.
3.) I hate most people.
4.) I can quote the movie Zoolander at length from memory.
5.) Bruno is my personal life coach. Seriously.

There. Looks like I'm safe. Phew!!! That was harder than I thought.

Now, get cracking, you kale-headed fraytards. They're watching. Good luck.







Brought to you by Rush Limbaugh's left testicle, Reginald P. Muffinfeld, III

1. I just signed up for some courses so I'm committed to finishing them.

2. I make a mean martini.

3. I'm good in bed.

(#2 doesn't necessarily have to happen before #3)

How can you breath for this

What a shame

We so called humans

1. I have a pain threshold that begins on the 2nd floor.

2. I donate half my monthly disposable income to charity and do not take the tax deduction.

3. I babysit for free - even if the kid is not related to me.

4. I have an excellent voice for reading aloud - from Dr. Seuss to James Joyce.

5. I create and collect primitive art.

6. I can interpret dreams.

I don't know if you've been following my... "project", but there's been a development. I'm nervous, excited, maudlin, fearful, hopeful and, well, behaving like an all-around Libra in general.

I.e., I don't know what to do, and, further, am ill/unequipped to figure out just exactly how I can put myself in a position to figure out how to know what to do.

Dammit.

I need to talk to my oldest brother, desperately, but he's in the middle of a trip to Arizona. I don't want to bother him, but, ironically, he'd be royally pissed off if I didn't bother him, especially with regard to what it is I'd be bothering him about.

Dammit.

I believe you (re: "3.").

Emily: Oh, Mama, look at me one minute as though you really saw me. Mama, fourteen years have gone by. I'm dead. You're a grandmother, Mama! Wally's dead, too. His appendix burst on a camping trip to North Conway. We felt just terrible about it - don't you remember? But, just for a moment now we're all together. Mama, just for a moment we're happy. Let's really look at one another!...I can't. I can't go on.It goes so fast. We don't have time to look at one another. I didn't realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed. Take me back -- up the hill -- to my grave. But first: Wait! One more look. Good-bye , Good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover's Corners....Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking....and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths....and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth,you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it--every, every minute?
Stage Manager: No. (pause) The saints and poets, maybe they do some.
Emily: I'm ready to go back.

I feel reduced to a piece of flotsam. Going to throw myself off a bridge now, but before I do: DID YOU SEE THIS, ELLEN?? SPECIAL TREATMENT, HUH? MULCH.

of watching the decline of civilization and listening to the din of the fucktards growing louder, I've gotta say that I'm eagerly awaiting my hearing before the Death Panels. You think they can squeeze me in next week?

Live another 40 years? Why the hell would I want that?

The Farm, A Poem

Memories that live
With no prediction
A dream I have
Tis a pleasant fiction.

1. I appear to be improving the gene pool. Somehow.

2. I work for the military-industrial-complex, doing contract research, and I commute about 40 miles to work. I think of myself as anti-war, think military contracting is an insidious enterprise, and see myself as an environmentalist of some sort or other.

3. I'm not particularly good at anything, but I'm halfway decent at a lot of things.

4. I supply untold numbers of lazy kids with free book reports, including reports on your books, sir.

I haven't been following, but I will be now. I ust finished reading your blog, and found it to be very moving - in the same way I find Iso's essays moving. Is it any coincidence that the best writing always springs from sorrow?

1. I'm growing extra skin for transplant
2. My leg is itchy
3. I haven't done a stroke of real work since 2003, but they keep paying me more money.

I got banned from daily Kos.

Oh, hey!

Markos is one of my Facebook friends.

Plus: I haven't been to work on time since the 80's.

List Of Things To Do

1.) Make a list of things to do
2.) Make a list of things I want to take with me
3.) Sell the piano
4.) Make a list of things I could sell
5.) Figure out what to do with the rest
[My brother Jesse: "Six, stop making lists."]