Marc

There is beauty in a car driving down the street, in a half-full glass of beer sitting on an empty bar, in a rock sitting on a sidewalk, alone, without peers or trash to accompany him/her/it. Does a rock have a sexual identity? Probably not. It should though, you know, cause rocks need to be able to identify with each other. There's only so many rocks on this planet, kids, and one day we're all going to wake up and be suffering from the worst rock shortage since the fucking Ice Ages and you know what's gonna happen then? The government's going to confiscate that shit and jack up the prices and blame it on some impoverished, under-developed country, and we'll start a war with them, claiming that they have no right to jack the prices of rocks up on us. I mean, for fuck's sake, eh, we're goddamned Americans! We invented rock, along with something called "roll", but no one's been quite able to peg down just exactly what object, person, or place the noun "roll" refers to. But we'll be damned to aich, ee, double-hockey sticks before we get dicked out of our rock(s), mo-fos! Fork it over.

Or, then again, maybe not. This is what happens when you struggle to say something before you go to bed, and you realize that you don't have much that's necessary to get off your chest. I'm better than others, though, you could say, cause at least I'm fucking here, and at least I'm writing. Shit. I feel like I'm going to go on one of those solo runs again.