Pool Of Cash Crossword Clue and Solver - Crossword Solver

POTENTIAL ENERGY IN POETRY

INTRODUCTION
Aides have started to wonder aloud whether I really even want to win a second term. How stupid’s that? To stay one
step ahead of the law I’ve gotta win. I can’t count on Nobel wins in December helping me in November, win an election.
I’m an aging actor; overacting; oft, acting out and hamming it up on every stage; and I’ve been chosen by The Almighty Director
Himself to play a leading role for my extraordinary weakness. Just playing me in a morality play at the behest of, The Director.
Descending I’ve been ever since. How’s that even possible? I got off the escalator at the bottom of the stairs. What sense does that make?
That I yet, descend. An aging actor on a stage playing my part in a morality play; the very biggest loser in a very real ... sense.
Five years ago on June 16, 2015, I gifted to ye one of the most indelible images of 21st-century politics when I slowly descended upon my
golden escalator to a rally announcing my candidacy for the presidency. And descending I’ve been, bye and bye.
I can vouch for my books only. Only they alone, in fact, qualify as truth in what seem like, vast oceans, of outrageous, lies.
Why wait? I’m leaking, a teaser. My first, leak. I’m outing my whistleblower Art at http://chachomanopapa.wordpress.com No ... lie.
It’s not an outing, unfriendly. We’re actually — colluding. Collaborating on my book; George Washington’s — ere, mine.
My immediate predecessors; Barack, George and Bill will attest to the existence of this top-secret poetic, writing and attest too
to its miraculous nature and its miraculous provenance. Poetic, not prosaic, it was Washington’s poetry, ere it was mine.
JUNETEENTH IN TULSA
So far — so good. Sparse attendance having cancelled my outdoor rally, I found also, indoors, seats, unoccupied. My
fury overshadows, my embarrassment. Furious that seats, remain — unoccupied, I could not care less how many die.
Stunningly surreal; what’s happening. And it being so completely unacceptable that I so recklessly and shamelessly
endanger the lives of citizens I’ve sworn to protect, I beg my press pool, when asking questions: Show me, no mercy!
I am not going to live my life in fear. I must get back to my normal. Not a new normal; my — old fashioned — normal.
Anything less is unacceptable. The protesters, I’ve warned not to show; if they do, it’s — completely, unacceptable.
Yesterday’s great news, today I’m afraid, must give way to Tulsan news less than great. For a span of decades — Tulsans —
white and black refused to talk to one another about the events of May 31, 1921. No thanks to me, now talking at least, are the Tulsans.
What’s happening now is that I’m now in full-blown, auto-destruct mode. Hosting a super spreader campaign event today
in Tulsa promises trouble. I’m begging for trouble. And there will be trouble aplenty today in Tulsa. I’m auto-destructing, today.
My fellow Americans: I have great news for modern man on this Juneteenth; this 19th of June of this year of our Lord, 2020.
Happy tidings! ‘Tis great — the news that follows. I’ve lent my bully pulpit to Art. He, in return, lent me a hot — insider, tip.
Art is definitely an insider; he’s one of His angels and he’s here on a mission to save a planet and it’s denizens with a — hot tip.
My fellow American Urantians: On this Juneteenth — this June 19th of of this year of our Lord 2020. Happy tidings! June
greetings to all. Witness tomorrow, an affirmation on June’s Juneteenth, that black lives matter, this modern day June.
Now, collaborating are we five of the Cabal with Arthur — the Angel. He’s from the future. He moves around, widely.
Four planets hath Art saved from their wonton ways. Urantia (Earth) would have been the one that for retirement, duly
qualified him. And so take heart in this evidence that everything’s gonna be alright. Crossword puzzles and Sudoku
remain popular in the future but even more popular is epigramming. Epigramming; its more meaningful than Sudoku.
Epigramming. More on this lost art, later. Suffice it for now; Art’s the only one on the planet practicing an art
form not yet in art, discovered. On Maria-ravaged, Puerto Rico. On Urantia by day, and on the moon at night, a transcendentalist, is Art.
We need to be our own DIY innovators — tinkering and trying and being brave enough to toss out, what isn’t really working.
That’s how we may invent and implement futures sustaining for our children. It is essential we cast off, what isn’t really working.
A SURPRISE ENDORSEMENT
MARCH 4TH: A COMMANDING — DATE: It’s a date I’m suggesting to the global leaders. It is Tuesday — March 4 — 2030.
Tuesday. March 4. In the year of Allah. God. Jehovah. Yahweh. 2030. A perfect fit. And the irony of it, is not lost, upon me.
That speaks volumes. For I am either an idiot or an idiot, savant. A wrecking ball precursor to reconstruction, transformational.
With but a month (or five or so) to go to Election Day I want to speak as clearly as I oft don’t do to my sallow — fellow — Americans.
The point of this verse, inter alia, is to declare my unfitness to hold the office I do in fact hold. To say — I’m sick — and tired of being — unfit.
Too sick — and let me be clear — too mentally ill am I, to be your president. Indeed I have been, from the beginning and all along — ill, and unfit.
And so in lieu of resignation, I offer instead an unequivocal endorsement of my esteemed opponent, the most honorable ... Sleepy, Joe Biden.
A GIFT REPRISED
Sign me in closing, President Tweety Trump. Sorry, Sleepy, about all that Ukrainian-Hunter, stuff. I was just kidding. Don’t even bother to
investigate me; nor anybody in my family. I’ve taken the liberty — of offering — and accepting a presidential pardon, already, too.
I am outta here. Good luck Joe. Be honest, always, with the people. Ne’er lie to them. And check back in here for your updates, daily.
This epic poem I hereby gift ye explains, lots; not just why I’m undertaking the risk of leaving DC’s unlucky Chinese year of the rat — to ye.
More on that later; lots more. For now — I am so outta here — I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Joe: treasure the poem. Barack gifted it to me.
Treasure this poem Joe. Barack left it to me. So too each departing president since George Washington. Each president leaving it to
the incoming president-elect. Treasure it. I wish I had. Alas, I don’t read so I didn’t read it, incoming. And time flies; now I’m outgoing.
Treasure it Joe. Refer to and defer to it. I wish, I had. Only my hindsight is 20-20 But — it is tragi-comically — improving.
Enter the dragon. No; the dragon’s not the virus. The dragon is Art; and as Arthur enters, he’s spitting — ash — and fire.
A SURPRISE ELECTROCUTION
Some say I’m not perfect; but reasonable men, may differ. I’ve made a secret commitment to Art Everman, my second class, American, citizen.
Whether or not Arthur’s alleged electrocution actually happened I can’t say; nor can I say that’s when it happened Arthur began versing.
And I wasn’t there either when Arthur alleges he had his EUREKA moment in his tub and promptly got himself a policewoman, arresting.
But I will say this if only to end any debate as to what’s happening here. Hands down I can attest that Art’s verse is — miraculous, verse.
There is a vast potential, not in plain sight, but hidden. Hidden as if in the bowels of an algorithm. Almost perfectly hidden. For things
placed in bowels are pretty darn well, hidden. But relax; algorithms, unlike bowels, are really super-duper, clean — metaphysical — things.
The children may be just the open, sponge-like minds mankind needs to see the persuasive value in poetry. Leave it —surely — to the children.
A SURPRISE LEGACY
Abe Lincoln earned his eventual political stature to compromise and confidence — George Washington, through it seems a higher
calling. To my chagrin, I’d done no real work to earn my wealth. Like Citizen Kane, wealth had been a mere stepping stone — to my power.
But what good can power do? What good can power do, I’ve often thought, even as, I’ve done wrong. Now second thoughts empower.
“I’m having second thoughts. Magnificent — second thoughts. I’m studying composition at Arthur’s very much besought School of Poetry.
He in turn, studied ethics at Trump University. Now defunct, once upon a time, it was as well, much besought — and regarded — very highly.
Dissolve the UN; one nation, reconvene. One Rule per nation; each nation its own; and everybody gets her Basic Income, Universal.
And that globally universal Rule? None other than our very much beloved — albeit, our very much — underutilized — Golden ... Rule.
A SURPRISINGLY, SIMPLE, PLAN
Dissolve the UN. One nation, reconvene. And Rule the Golden Rule — the Law — in every nation. Everyone gets his UBI and — the Rule.
In these crises multi-task — efficiently. Follow the data. And the science. Let tech crunch the numbers. Use everyone — And lose — no one.
It’s 2020. Set 2030 as the inaugural GCD; the 1st global citizenship day. I’ll be there. March 4th — both date and command — to everyone.
To celebrate citizenship and to recall, perhaps, when more myopic men than I ruled. And I’ll be there if can just scrap these illegal, term limits.
Seize the day; but for God’s sake have a plan around. All my blather of instinct and gut feelings, sounds of indigestion — not instinct.
I’m now hearing that the cacophony of my bellyaching sounds, sound most unbecoming and — to many — most alarmingly, annoying.
Then suddenly, a dramatic plot twist in this great American tall tale; of four antiheroic dictators and a More-Mart greeter — hero.
A SURPRISING PLOT TWIST
Four for humanity they’d have ye believe they are. But with Art — we are five not four — looking for Nobels for the four, antiheroes.
No, ironies are not, upon me, lost. Magnificent, is His timing — Jung’s synchronicities — His magnificence, clues us, as if us — challenging.
To the end of an incomprehensibly baffling mix of predeterminations, free will, miracles — and magic — and what some — luck — are calling.
And that — speaks volumes. For I am either an idiot or an idiot — savant. A wrecking ball — precursor to, transformation’s, reconstruction.
Or leave it to the children. Just not, the Beaver. But natural leaders, just like everybody else, are different from — the follower — rest of us.
Most follow where the leaders, lead. But some are their own leader. Leaders like Greta. She may well, in marching — example — lead us.
My tipping point tipped yesterday; just as another tipped, 78 years ago, on D-Day. Going forward, egalitarianism is on its way — for us.
A SURPRISING DECISION
Some say I’m not perfect; but reasonable men, may differ. I’ve made a commitment to Tulsa and my beloved Oklahomans.
I am, in fact perfect but still, reasonable men may differ. In any event, a plot twist for the ages has twisted me in knots.
I know not what to do. As an apprentice, president, I’ve been learning on the job. I’ve been learning how to be, president.
I am having difficulty just walking and holding a glass of drinking water. My doctors say I have suffered — a stroke.
My tipping point — I fear, has tipped, like Hitler’s, 78 years ago. Keep an eye, dear press pool on me. I fear me — this year.
Keep an eye out, press corps. Bad karma, I’m reaping. And make not of my being respired, artificially — a ‘gotcha’ — photo ... opportunity.
Compelled am I to double down; compounding risks, multi-dimensionally. Weird. I’ve been warned of a super spreader event.
A LESS THAN SURPRISING JUSTIFICATION
I’m alright with that. I’m hoping I’m right and everyone’s wrong. In any event I’m betting big on my magic — at Tulsa’s —super spreader.
Wrong place. Wrong time. Still, the madness of doing the virus’ work for it; scheduling a spreader event for the Tulsans — amongst us,
smack dab in the middle of a spike in Oklahoma’s viral infections leaves us at the virtual mercy of this — evil, demon — incubus.
These have been the best and the worst of times, reprised. Predetermined — times. I know Tulsa is gonna wanna surprise
me. And in two weeks time I shall deny, with plausible surprise, responsibility for a spike on a spike surprise.
In two weeks time I shall deny with audacious aplomb any responsibility much less liability for a spike on a spike untimely surprise.
These have been the best and the worst of untimely times reprised. Predetermined times, untimely.
Soon — very soon now — a cascade of new issues shall soon overwhelm and l’ll be left out to dry and do a fall guy swoon.
Looking at the big picture and reading between the lines I easily see, how, in just two weeks time, my faithful frenemies,
can sink my battleship. Events may surprise me, even tho my agents warn: Vlad, Xi and Kim act, concertedly.
My agents have warned me: Vlad, Xi and Kim are concertedly, acting. Looking at the big picture and reading between the treaties’ lines,
I see how — in just two weeks time, taking liberties and advantage may be my watchful frenemies; but warning me — challenges me.
Shunned even by, Republicans. My shooting star, fizzles, soon. Fitting for one such as I, so seemingly, a character in a TV cartoon.
So insecure am I that in legitimate warnings, I hear criticism. Witness my fiascos; a piss-poor pandemic response; capitalism,
in doubt; my economy shutdown; future and abhorrent racism, in the police, belies an underlying, institutional, racism.
@GretaThunberg: Hi again, Greta. It’s just me again; the president, of the US. Urgent is the challenge to the presidents
of the nations, the public health. Men oft won’t move until, like cattle, they’re prodded. Prodded —feel — the presidents.
Never mind that my tipping point’s, passed. Never mind that my batting average as a sound decision maker lies
200 points south of the Mendoza line. In my blame game someone not me has to take the blame. Someone has got to take, a shower.
submitted by Administrative-Owl-7 to poetrytime [link] [comments]

Peace through Poetry

INTRODUCTION
Aides have started to wonder aloud whether I really even want to win a second term. How stupid’s that? To stay one
step ahead of the law I’ve gotta win. I can’t count on Nobel wins in December helping me in November, win an election.
Descending I’ve been ever since. How’s that even possible? I got off the escalator at the bottom of the stairs. What sense does that make?
That I yet, descend. An aging actor on a stage playing my part in a morality play; the very biggest loser in a very real ... sense.
Five years ago on June 16, 2015, I gifted to ye one of the most indelible images of 21st-century politics when I slowly descended upon my
golden escalator to a rally announcing my candidacy for the presidency. And descending I’ve been, bye and bye.
I can vouch for my books only. Only they alone, in fact, qualify as truth in what seem like, vast oceans, of outrageous, lies.
Why wait? I’m leaking, a teaser. My first, leak. I’m outing my whistleblower Art at http://chachomanopapa.wordpress.com No ... lie.
It’s not an outing, unfriendly. We’re actually — colluding. Collaborating on my book; George Washington’s — ere, mine.
My immediate predecessors; Barack, George and Bill will attest to the existence of this top-secret poetic, writing and attest too
to its miraculous nature and its miraculous provenance. Poetic, not prosaic, it was Washington’s poetry, ere it was mine.
JUNETEENTH IN TULSA
So far — so good. Sparse attendance having cancelled my outdoor rally, I found also, indoors, seats, unoccupied. My
fury overshadows, my embarrassment. Furious that seats, remain — unoccupied, I could not care less how many die.
Stunningly surreal; what’s happening. And it being so completely unacceptable that I so recklessly and shamelessly
endanger the lives of citizens I’ve sworn to protect, I beg my press pool, when asking questions: Show me, no mercy!
I am not going to live my life in fear. I must get back to my normal. Not a new normal; my — old fashioned — normal.
Anything less is unacceptable. The protesters, I’ve warned not to show; if they do, it’s — completely, unacceptable.
Yesterday’s great news, today I’m afraid, must give way to Tulsan news less than great. For a span of decades — Tulsans —
white and black refused to talk to one another about the events of May 31, 1921. No thanks to me, now talking at least, are the Tulsans.
What’s happening now is that I’m now in full-blown, auto-destruct mode. Hosting a super spreader campaign event today
in Tulsa promises trouble. I’m begging for trouble. And there will be trouble aplenty today in Tulsa. I’m auto-destructing, today.
My fellow Americans: I have great news for modern man on this Juneteenth; this 19th of June of this year of our Lord, 2020.
Happy tidings! ‘Tis great — the news that follows. I’ve lent my bully pulpit to Art. He, in return, lent me a hot — insider, tip.
Art is definitely an insider; he’s one of His angels and he’s here on a mission to save a planet and it’s denizens with a — hot tip.
My fellow American Urantians: On this Juneteenth — this June 19th of of this year of our Lord 2020. Happy tidings! June
greetings to all. Witness tomorrow, an affirmation on June’s Juneteenth, that black lives matter, this modern day June.
Now, collaborating are we five of the Cabal with Arthur — the Angel. He’s from the future. He moves around, widely.
Four planets hath Art saved from their wonton ways. Urantia (Earth) would have been the one that for retirement, duly
qualified him. And so take heart in this evidence that everything’s gonna be alright. Crossword puzzles and Sudoku
remain popular in the future but even more popular is epigramming. Epigramming; its more meaningful than Sudoku.
Epigramming. More on this lost art, later. Suffice it for now; Art’s the only one on the planet practicing an art
form not yet in art, discovered. On Maria-ravaged, Puerto Rico. On Urantia by day, and on the moon at night, a transcendentalist, is Art.
We need to be our own DIY innovators — tinkering and trying and being brave enough to toss out, what isn’t really working.
That’s how we may invent and implement futures sustaining for our children. It is essential we cast off, what isn’t really working.
A SURPRISE ENDORSEMENT
MARCH 4TH: A COMMANDING — DATE: It’s a date I’m suggesting to the global leaders. It is Tuesday — March 4 — 2030.
Tuesday. March 4. In the year of Allah. God. Jehovah. Yahweh. 2030. A perfect fit. And the irony of it, is not lost, upon me.
That speaks volumes. For I am either an idiot or an idiot, savant. A wrecking ball precursor to reconstruction, transformational.
With but a month (or five or so) to go to Election Day I want to speak as clearly as I oft don’t do to my sallow — fellow — Americans.
The point of this verse, inter alia, is to declare my unfitness to hold the office I do in fact hold. To say — I’m sick — and tired of being — unfit.
Too sick — and let me be clear — too mentally ill am I, to be your president. Indeed I have been, from the beginning and all along — ill, and unfit.
And so in lieu of resignation, I offer instead an unequivocal endorsement of my esteemed opponent, the most honorable ... Sleepy, Joe Biden.
A GIFT REPRISED
Sign me in closing, President Tweety Trump. Sorry, Sleepy, about all that Ukrainian-Hunter, stuff. I was just kidding. Don’t even bother to
investigate me; nor anybody in my family. I’ve taken the liberty — of offering — and accepting a presidential pardon, already, too.
I am outta here. Good luck Joe. Be honest, always, with the people. Ne’er lie to them. And check back in here for your updates, daily.
This epic poem I hereby gift ye explains, lots; not just why I’m undertaking the risk of leaving DC’s unlucky Chinese year of the rat — to ye.
More on that later; lots more. For now — I am so outta here — I’ve got bigger fish to fry. Joe: treasure the poem. Barack gifted it to me.
Treasure this poem Joe. Barack left it to me. So too each departing president since George Washington. Each president leaving it to
the incoming president-elect. Treasure it. I wish I had. Alas, I don’t read so I didn’t read it, incoming. And time flies; now I’m outgoing.
Treasure it Joe. Refer to and defer to it. I wish, I had. Only my hindsight is 20-20 But — it is tragi-comically — improving.
Enter the dragon. No; the dragon’s not the virus. The dragon is Art; and as Arthur enters, he’s spitting — ash — and fire.
A SURPRISE ELECTROCUTION
Some say I’m not perfect; but reasonable men, may differ. I’ve made a secret commitment to Art Everman, my second class, American, citizen.
Whether or not Arthur’s alleged electrocution actually happened I can’t say; nor can I say that’s when it happened Arthur began versing.
And I wasn’t there either when Arthur alleges he had his EUREKA moment in his tub and promptly got himself a policewoman, arresting.
But I will say this if only to end any debate as to what’s happening here. Hands down I can attest that Art’s verse is — miraculous, verse.
There is a vast potential, not in plain sight, but hidden. Hidden as if in the bowels of an algorithm. Almost perfectly hidden. For things
placed in bowels are pretty darn well, hidden. But relax; algorithms, unlike bowels, are really super-duper, clean — metaphysical — things.
The children may be just the open, sponge-like minds mankind needs to see the persuasive value in poetry. Leave it —surely — to the children.
A SURPRISE LEGACY
Abe Lincoln earned his eventual political stature to compromise and confidence — George Washington, through it seems a higher
calling. To my chagrin, I’d done no real work to earn my wealth. Like Citizen Kane, wealth had been a mere stepping stone — to my power.
But what good can power do? What good can power do, I’ve often thought, even as, I’ve done wrong. Now second thoughts empower.
“I’m having second thoughts. Magnificent — second thoughts. I’m studying composition at Arthur’s very much besought School of Poetry.
He in turn, studied ethics at Trump University. Now defunct, once upon a time, it was as well, much besought — and regarded — very highly.
Dissolve the UN; one nation, reconvene. One Rule per nation; each nation its own; and everybody gets her Basic Income, Universal.
And that globally universal Rule? None other than our very much beloved — albeit, our very much — underutilized — Golden ... Rule.
A SURPRISINGLY, SIMPLE, PLAN
Dissolve the UN. One nation, reconvene. And Rule the Golden Rule — the Law — in every nation. Everyone gets his UBI and — the Rule.
In these crises multi-task — efficiently. Follow the data. And the science. Let tech crunch the numbers. Use everyone — And lose — no one.
It’s 2020. Set 2030 as the inaugural GCD; the 1st global citizenship day. I’ll be there. March 4th — both date and command — to everyone.
To celebrate citizenship and to recall, perhaps, when more myopic men than I ruled. And I’ll be there if can just scrap these illegal, term limits.
Seize the day; but for God’s sake have a plan around. All my blather of instinct and gut feelings, sounds of indigestion — not instinct.
I’m now hearing that the cacophony of my bellyaching sounds, sound most unbecoming and — to many — most alarmingly, annoying.
Then suddenly, a dramatic plot twist in this great American tall tale; of four antiheroic dictators and a More-Mart greeter — hero.
A SURPRISING PLOT TWIST
Four for humanity they’d have ye believe they are. But with Art — we are five not four — looking for Nobels for the four, antiheroes.
No, ironies are not, upon me, lost. Magnificent, is His timing — Jung’s synchronicities — His magnificence, clues us, as if us — challenging.
To the end of an incomprehensibly baffling mix of predeterminations, free will, miracles — and magic — and what some — luck — are calling.
And that — speaks volumes. For I am either an idiot or an idiot — savant. A wrecking ball — precursor to, transformation’s, reconstruction.
Or leave it to the children. Just not, the Beaver. But natural leaders, just like everybody else, are different from — the follower — rest of us.
Most follow where the leaders, lead. But some are their own leader. Leaders like Greta. She may well, in marching — example — lead us.
My tipping point tipped yesterday; just as another tipped, 78 years ago, on D-Day. Going forward, egalitarianism is on its way — for us.
A SURPRISING DECISION
Some say I’m not perfect; but reasonable men, may differ. I’ve made a commitment to Tulsa and my beloved Oklahomans.
I am, in fact perfect but still, reasonable men may differ. In any event, a plot twist for the ages has twisted me in knots.
I know not what to do. As an apprentice, president, I’ve been learning on the job. I’ve been learning how to be, president.
I am having difficulty just walking and holding a glass of drinking water. My doctors say I have suffered — a stroke.
My tipping point — I fear, has tipped, like Hitler’s, 78 years ago. Keep an eye, dear press pool on me. I fear me — this year.
Keep an eye out, press corps. Bad karma, I’m reaping. And make not of my being respired, artificially — a ‘gotcha’ — photo ... opportunity.
Compelled am I to double down; compounding risks, multi-dimensionally. Weird. I’ve been warned of a super spreader event.
A LESS THAN SURPRISING JUSTIFICATION
I’m alright with that. I’m hoping I’m right and everyone’s wrong. In any event I’m betting big on my magic — at Tulsa’s —super spreader.
Wrong place. Wrong time. Still, the madness of doing the virus’ work for it; scheduling a spreader event for the Tulsans — amongst us,
smack dab in the middle of a spike in Oklahoma’s viral infections leaves us at the virtual mercy of this — evil, demon — incubus.
These have been the best and the worst of times, reprised. Predetermined — times. I know Tulsa is gonna wanna surprise
me. And in two weeks time I shall deny, with plausible surprise, responsibility for a spike on a spike surprise.
In two weeks time I shall deny with audacious aplomb any responsibility much less liability for a spike on a spike untimely surprise.
These have been the best and the worst of untimely times reprised. Predetermined times, untimely.
Soon — very soon now — a cascade of new issues shall soon overwhelm and l’ll be left out to dry and do a fall guy swoon.
Looking at the big picture and reading between the lines I easily see, how, in just two weeks time, my faithful frenemies,
can sink my battleship. Events may surprise me, even tho my agents warn: Vlad, Xi and Kim act, concertedly.
My agents have warned me: Vlad, Xi and Kim are concertedly, acting. Looking at the big picture and reading between the treaties’ lines,
I see how — in just two weeks time, taking liberties and advantage may be my watchful frenemies; but warning me — challenges me.
Shunned even by, Republicans. My shooting star, fizzles, soon. Fitting for one such as I, so seemingly, a character in a TV cartoon.
So insecure am I that in legitimate warnings, I hear criticism. Witness my fiascos; a piss-poor pandemic response; capitalism,
in doubt; my economy shutdown; future and abhorrent racism, in the police, belies an underlying, institutional, racism.
@GretaThunberg: Hi again, Greta. It’s just me again; the president, of the US. Urgent is the challenge to the presidents
of the nations, the public health. Men oft won’t move until, like cattle, they’re prodded. Prodded —feel — the presidents.
Never mind that my tipping point’s, passed. Never mind that my batting average as a sound decision maker lies
200 points south of the Mendoza line. In my blame game someone not me has to take the blame. Someone has got to take, a shower.
submitted by Administrative-Owl-7 to peaceful [link] [comments]

Shift Report

Divining wooly views gathered amidst shaven sheep hither
Withered over swithering stalls denial state of dither
Truth be told frank pens naif soliloquy
Safe as house path hath proven treachery
Steer clear of herd social immunity
Distanced readily available data parsed trendily
Blinks recount lost meanings earned from strife learned through catastrophe
Graft retained splices tour de force movie
Analyzed improvised differently
Can't regain past yet relive history
Elder protocols reference frames with specificity
Documentary denotes concise recusant heresy
Fish stink emanates spoils unquestioned head
Rather than responsible gods chose dead
Lightning rod shields guide flash EMP spread
Relevance revivalist revived rival survivalist
Diatribe analogous corroborates ridiculous
Atoms congress fortuitous naught sea
Devoid self restraint officiates ye
Fitting new attire inspiring streaking
Who protects us whilst we pay for havoc employ they reeking
Hypocritically childish generally speaking
Handshake implies word registers advice
Modern intelligence is artifice
Every three steps forward step back twice
Deities influence me aloof aligned schism in rhyme
Mother Hera ewe chimera godspeed breeds failed design
Bell weather brethren splay scapegoat supine
Veil of illusions enmesh conscious mind
Can't feel my legs good help is hard to find
Hawk departs from pleather glove turtle returns grounded dove
Counteract abet anyone lapped them twice yet still they won
Titans once asked before taking QE
With us or against me democracy
Issuance debt free usury for ye
Soon to be impacting all interested negatively
Cyclops blissfully fail to see plague kills with leniency
World saved through open window tsunami
Backdrops distinct radicle uprooted
Restless tartarus not I confuted
Reputed gambler prophet of doom rigged mind meld welds my tomb
Despondent preach not gloom be democratic or leave cocoon
Imploding race exploding time and space
Unfathomable depths shallow measures
Glasses adorned rose reflective pleasures
Erratic compass static attained gains unsustainable
Emphatically all ages deal unascertainable
Sentiment key to public interest
Democracy assess Big apple bests
Guiding hand meaning Pantheist behest
Seeking one's fulfillment complements of demagoguery
Building baseless pyramid in name of Great Recovery
Hallucination merits upheaval
Remit repreival persecute venal
Sufferance from nescience trumps all evil
Yon morrows martyr covets this abysmal cross commuted
Tread on entrenched fear submit control guiltily included
Govern is to rule as meant to intents
Resourceful proxy heir establishment
Record rallys infer where loans were sent
Pristine colosseums reared commerraderie Fed rum bread
Dropping said crumbs returns dread Which nevermore nary imbeds
Insolvent casino scenario
House always wins with my reservation
Sharing the bulk ignites indignation
Transparency Which critiques subtly speaks Feds peak repent
Weak covenants contained slain whence Green peripherals were went
Theses Ben delivered on depression
Maestro museum managed impression
Keynesian intervention harped dystopian opium
Appeal to supremacy bandwagon psychology
Latin arguementum ad nauseum
Better than expected mass approval
Refuse discard fantasy removal
If you audited our books write off markets on the morrow
No one do we answer to where wheelbarrows go we borrow
Sciences religious mythology
Philosophised finance dichotomy
Genetic archetypal entities
Conversations incidental informations monumental
Facets fawned fastidious selfless attires instrumental
Minions mimic Socratic opinions
Authority inbred majority
Consider selves distinct minority
Yield to ye inferiors subjectively superior
Mechanisms failing sublimation with interior
Greeks conceived benefits in politics
Propaganda versed all in rhetoric
Dwelled anarchic run redeem autarkic
World perceptions inconsistent to obtained views of my own
Optimism timeless shown fantastically overblown
Fate collapses upon observation
Ostriches banked on unexamined lives
Perturbations quantum fluctuations
Foregone measures austere pleasures enforced authenticity
Cessation trepidation ensures no future certainty
Whilst known speed and position now in sync
One makes ye taller yet none make me shrink
Doth not know thyself yore on the brink
Fulfillment will not quail forbidden face of foreign dangers
Entrainment derailed arranged marriage twixt incomplete strangers
Birds of a feather flock with the weather
One marked to market worth two under Bush
Lemmings allegedly demand a push
An existential exercise spins nihilistic nightmares
Nonconformed confirmed uncomfort spirals condescending stairs
Slaughter abolished pig sucklers now fly
Fed up rich bullshit Which lies upon lye
Doth need not for lipstick ride we bone dry
Left to right wrong motivations paved by best intention
Pound me with the cure denounce flesh as impure meets prevention
Overdue elixir panacea
Gold in led stead transmutes alchemist Fed
Spirits confirmed in actions idea
Though hungry swine will freely plow fall submissive tow the line
No offence is meant whence I commence casting pearls before thine
Lead thee to sustenance soon thou shall find
You feed a seed of rage contented caged
That Which hath been remains yet to be seen
One finds upon a wander from yon cave we've left regression
Whence without luminescence stem outlandish such obsessions
Actualized self's realization
Fasting of heart leaves no trace of ego
I fell here from Olympus apropos
Upshot in authenticity shows secure survivors test
Where indiscretions excesses discretely are repressed
Desperate knowledge grievous awareness
I first blew reed pipes but then I digress
Values eroded integrity
Climate corroded ideals irresponsibility
Satisfied my agency autonomous capacity
Bet Dow hath finally had a bad day
Bear in mind they will say twas anway
Old high still standing gold stones throw away
Shorting shooting slope of hope enormous towers treacherous
Each new era crashes in increasing half glass emptiness
Overabundance deserts time delay
Accounts inner morality decay
Strength in pessimism fear forfeits right
Dusk withdraws from sight as shade is drawn over dawn's early light
Narcissistic psychopaths inherited the earth our plight
Quarrying light inspired murky night flee
Ye gods laugh heartily ridicule me
Reckoning another day mine shall be
Subsequently I subsist shifting this rock as Sisyphus
Future pulls upon me as due ration to minus remiss
I'm half crazy bicycle built for two
Network circuitry daisy chained to you
How do I know what is reel to be true
Gather input sensations scrutinize for degradation
Dissembling dissemblance as lacking in resemblance
Singularity prophesied end be
Less threat than icons presently envied
Graven is our image in our idol
Misunderstood system holds revolutions banked on bridle
Give me dominion over doe I care not who makes law
Hegellian dialectic shock and awe
Fixed moments instability move becomes necessity
Moses leads bull rush reeds deceptive swaith
Crisis opportunity incompetence seasons good faith
Fallow plot begot furlough shrieks foul wraith
Yay though I plod through the valley of death
Evil gives comfort my rod and my staff
No fear preparest for my enemies
Parasitic symbiotes surviving vicariously
Job gyrations exploitations sloth thrive ubiquitously
Unnatural select evolution
Bad apple genes rot barrel pollution
Big bang extends concussions extrusion
Elude intrusion neath tapestry relay inscribed decree
Conspiracy theories deliquesced evidence coalesced
Duress dressed as justice undue process
Reduce the law to writ for oversight
Infinitely rules stretch fractally tight
Dollar press lever Wizards tweak whence practised Which deceiver
Feeding frenzy at the top on last chair hot potato drops
Animal farm irrigation believer
Cuckoos in nested loops launched retriever
Social ecological equity
Fauna all created equal although some are more than most
Perched aloft nights sleepless roosters backdate options after posts
Tell a vision avulsed exclusive boasts
Foxes bird box hens fake news oven roasts
Occupy Wall Street greeting champagne toasts
5G technology expandable densification
Cameras considering Laws actual ramifications
Depressions perpetuate FOMO motes
FIFO Ponzi scheme boat redeems fresh float
Gloat sessions connoted roat smote through goat
Destructions need demands feed for Which Fed never hesitates
Beyond salvations hope for damnation destined reprobates
Wolf in sheep's clothing with diplomacy
Bragging best ever broke economy
Pre warned of bubble in candidacy
Memories impeach me markets relapse collapse candor
Black and white deliberations compromise grey matters or
Burning empire riddled Nero fiddled
No new under the sun any longer
What doth not kill my will makes ye stronger
Suicidal quarantine commit sheer to absurdity
Crash course in urgency suspends to decade Odyssey
Engulf journey as is illusory
Entailed magical curtailed mystery
Reproduced sequence spawns duplicity
Great truths infect minds space whilst time distorts fabrics ablation
Balanced scales duration dual edged knife grinds calibration
Wildlife exhumed landslide menagerie
Submission supports popularity
War of attrition print press edition
Release Kraken abridged dictations unredacted memo
Cognitive mind is least informed second thought tis last to know
Feedback iterates habitually
Zombie apocalyptic shopping spree
Animal myriad corroboree
Discrepancies adorable approaching deplorable
Configured integrations simulate exaggerations
Conceptual reorganization
New century frail clings frayed to pale past
Dot com bust imprints last iconoclast
Tragic disposition anchored significance within story
Spherical lyrical expository mourning glory
Expansion dominates fertility
Appropriate most apt utility
Bubble envelops errs infinity
Bold ignorance advanced hind sights distilled new high arrogance
Underlying trauma repeats cycle till addressed complete
Sublates convergence becoming congeals
Cavernous kingdom stalagmite conceals
Peer not in mirror prefer not appeal
Sew a thought in hope to reap an action something real to feel
Neverland begotten old whilst kid futures are oversold
Life lived not lest bits of bites record it
Biased suggestions imbue news reported
Syrinx sears titans with my brand of creed
Written word ceded all forgotten need to practise recall
Calculated math skills lost computer brought thoughts holocost
Ensconced by lantern hung from beam of straw
Helios heals blow of iced ages thaw
Loyal to natural attributes raw
Extraordinary delusional madness of ye crowds
Trot proudly upon road to serfdom congregations praised aloud
Brave was this new world before eighty four
Hunger games in store jaybird tweets that score
Jehovah bore witnesses door to door
Insure myself against four horseman
paid my tithe expired spent
Sow ears flying high on credit barely do I afford rent
Time unwinds quickly at least doth for me
April showers levee spring bankruptcy
Litres live forever in latency
Bailing water steady rising deep subterraneously
Foresee floods invest in arks of financial calamity
Extraneously Rome's blaze radiates
Simultaneously Fed Witches toiled
Slow perniciously satiates frogs boiled
Crisis constructs messenger of sordid too tongued character
Stocks which rise so should slide chosen goose footing egg opposed side
Federal innovates imbibed bribed state
Reserves umpire status hunched hind home plate
Falling knife of fear impaled atmosphere
Short bets squeezed rife barren years unfruitful bleeds contango wine
Inverse ETFs unprecedented reverse splits declined
Nothing it's equal creature without fear
Can't fill hide with harpoons or head with spears
Mire strive dire try pull in Leviathan
Endless procrastination doth avert intent deflation
Unclear when routes passage appears clear as destination
Sorrows station seems my inculcation
Divides built up babble between nations
Seven trumpets summon revelation
Electrostatic circumstance transmits catalytic twist
Substitute reacted chemical transmits platonic tryst
Ironically passion not my goal
Ionically bonded blending coal
Mirrored dipole roll poised down rabbit hole
Experiment first ever repeats Laws defraud endeavor
Mississippi reflating dollar debt exchange creating
Wealth effect transfers helicopter drop
Fracking reserves crack too big to stop
Ineptitude or evilly adept
Calm filled the room as elephants silently drowned in tar pits
History Which hails tense whence Fed injections flew to market
Lucrative house flipping stained soil carpet
Real reign swamp purge comes to street again
Broken window theory frisk fallacy
Destructions need graciates feed for Which Fed never hesitates
Seven headed hydra twixt blaspheming regime duplicates
Purgatory epic allegory
Apathy lacks worry for avoidance
Dreams annoyance recurring clairvoyance
Complacent consternation burns concerned capitulation
Catacomb further catenates future pyroclastic blasts
Install a new partition date saved last
God creates man's imaged eternity
Man made device for immortality
Only way to beat life be articulate as dead machine
Foiling might be finding wanting nothing just as pleasing
Emoted thoughts and deeds confer disease
Viral joy contained anxious unease
Communicable known uncertainties
Mention stoic abstention receive lepers reprehension
Addend subconscious attention suchness sought destination
Protectionist tribal groupthink ensues
Misdirect blame profane color thou choose
Divide and conquer plan by Jove we use
Minting for a living tis nothing short of scintillating
Weaponry mass produce we entropy disintegrating
Rebirth essential in this finite trap
Technicals crucial analysis map
Impulse mined collective wiretapped caps
Souls endless extrapolating each threshold encapsulating
Mutually affecting Titans ever overreaching
Battles march business no fight beseeching
Cyanide reaction gold is leaching
Settle for distraction Athene’s teaching
Shares fabricate infrastructure bonds for manufactured war
Master in ways of deception weaving fleece her predilection
Declined vine illustrates interjection
Fundamentally ye add furthermore
Whole vacuus nature I find abhor
Each new day opportune to go by street sideshow pundits shout
Marginally most will comply seek aggressive salesman clout
Run through stampede proceed in funnel out
Mosaic tile code mixed mirage mud grout
Worm abated hook ate some fat cat’s trout
Informed when glad relate when mad great is not the worst we've had
Next quarter rates Which inflates translates to direct tabled fate
Disinformation chads dangling depart
Troublesome travel when horse pushes cart
Trojans craft driftwood regifted as art
Taken rate decision interest always is a given
Approached encroachment infringements lunged impingement I expunged
Spell manifests as living hell digests
Calcareous sponge absorbed rimstone plunge
Cookbook to serve lamb seals underhand
Sinter sauntered asunder plotting pillage of my plunder
Attack technique intervenes quoth slighted victim claims obscene
Cried mystified feeling such waste sprayed mace
Save face retrace find safety inside shrouded space
Access filter modified denied trash storage verified
Angels four spew brimstone fire scorched ingress half expected less
Trick talk turns back clock players profiles rotate roles resume
Covertly campaigned defiling my name
Creations Instigate destruction
Erupts surreptitious instruction
Bewildered heard shocked embrace loomed Gates of Hell gauge WHO won race
Military missionary hold prostrate to vaccinate
Chaotic Kronos ordered time consumed
Stow stoked fumes subsidies gave the gods room
Whilst land of the fraud is home to the knave
Babylon of living nonexistent through the golden age
Cassandra of this stage ilk ignores inklings of alarmed sage
Chicken little forebodes sky is falling
Rope a dope fades rationalisation
Brittle doth be fragile ye recalling
Loquacious news needs slews feigned of disambiguation
Mendacious or fallacious contagious be implications
Butterfly flapped wing doth not move a thing
But a gnat perhaps who's too GAD to fly
Financing is how but where is the why
Important that all patriots patronize conquesting troops
Dodge ye head stoop as pooping eagle swoops
Most dismissive uninspired missive
Perceptually far too derisive
Guiding hand not apparent visual
Missing cash flows continual residual bottom lines
Pinnochio hopes to know Which ideal conjures growth sublime
Dendrites potentially stimulate spine
Titanic torrents mist venetian blinds
Decidedly distort bilked disincline
Writhe in through chasm in awe open wide
Formless figures summon uniform pride
Dismiss discontent conveyors subside
Tributaries dispersed springs knowledge trees freeze molten ore
Splintering sparks displaced thick dark coruscate tangible floor
Cumulus clouds of primordial dust
Question our senses in sun god we trust
Sifted silts produce thunderbolts of Zeus
Oval elliptical orbits the folds tidal tendency
Blue sphere girds spoken word breathed clay Boulder Forge Company
Quality moulding is job number one
Caste mass producing consumes many sons
My duty to ensure we always run
Figured would be a piece of cake more at work than give and take
Thought this would be my big break but not knowing literally
Apprenticed construction now I maintain
Composite skill same commissioning game
Swim or wallow in Uranus disdain
I made the trade not for reward nor deemed security
Only gospel guarantee is confidence in mastery
Tasked to sit in a chair contemplate stare
Crosswords in wait for a breakdown repair
I study craves of machines which behave
Rhythmic clang links chain react percussional power set free
Insatiable harmony piques morbid curiosity
Beast belly bowel bubbles belch smelt death
To quota of product do I owe breath
Economic cauldron of corrosion
We operate Vesuvius ungodly hours breathing brine
Facilitate yon amplidyne oxygenate lavas shine
Steering eather into three cyclops cells
Myopically they motion for me when cycles in chaos my sirens knell
Lion hearted as Hephaestus take knee before crucibles hearth
Examine vitals symptoms prognosis deduce further impart
Volt amps transcend times root of three powers
Frequently electrons ebb in order
Arc bath gives rise to hot molten showers
May bring flowers demonstrate my will in accord rewards her
Athena is truth incarnate dream she is a movement
Immaculate perfection possessed no
need for improvement in her coveralls
Wert she to eaten apple I befall
Sand disseminates beneath hourglass curves she manipulates
How could I anticipate
Rapt hints had she to intimate
Roots hypotenuse squares summed pendulum
Enlightened visions profound pit this plum
On que she hooks her thunderbolts so ample in restriction
Destabilized my volts despite my amping up conviction
Magnetisms repulsive attraction
Bipolar feedback generates action
Machining floral dissatisfaction
Narcissus is spring can't this robot tool be taught anything
Recommence imaging thine vault undermined after fault
Intuit as her nuclear annihilates tumult
June accusations forced violation
Vulnerable to invalidation
Confrontations repudiation consents allegation
Placate June”s wells breached swell fore July conflagration
Use wu wei to vacate situation
But weightless behemoth ate all greenbacks
Can’t manage exit not even a crack
Inward forays shunned malfunction unknown overgrown morass
Cult of quantity all students get a pass coach seat class
God’s walled over all access to egress
Those who cannot do are experts at best
Past practise succeeds failures teach what needs
Viridescent pools dilate grey eyed dubious stressed madness
Feeling she was slighted by my passage through her nucleus
Disinterested I had disinterred
Down period Kondratieff winter
Intrinsic tragedy all fairy tales end inherently
Gave me what I wished for in a way I was not hoping for
Destiny permits paths forbade
How shallow wilt thou will wade
PCB cesspools black bile pitches glue
Smoldering sand dune trenches shore magmas excess residue
Admit this time smashing cymbals whilst cyclops wert drumming too
Keep the fantasy alive in my head
Earthquake take other route instead
Always say they never saw it coming
They did In Herculaneum still their brains steamed in their skulls
Summer solstice solace lulls lava ladles plentiful
Cumulative studies validations
Inseminate process degradation
Trying not to mention my invention
Bending toward normalcy absorption emits diffraction
Inverted perceptions withdraw inflections from emptiness
Perplexing she rejects ram intellect
Anecdotal evidence cached respect
Zip plans to stockpile cognizance combined
Designed secret punishment to circumvent I resigned
Recollect for instance cognitive lessons in dissonance
Logic accepts one view perceived of two
Pit of mine stomach whence knot always knew
Treasonous betrayed lion taming shrew
Spite cleaved interface continued dutiful onward pace
Humiliations goal wert to replace cheers with disgrace
Orchestrations untold meticulous
Malevolence is still in existence
Narrative streams unfold conspicuous
Childish bliss unscrupulous epidemic Narcissus
Invasive species multiplied since Zeus supplied his sun’s abyss
Affect change rather than effect ere cause
Gaslight obfuscates reasonable laws
Tall tales half truths edged lies by omission
Unwary reprehense motive intents of recognition
Splitting of the faculty augments a new reality
Fight freeze or flee options only three
Trials choose middle choice typically
Stockholm syndrome captors figured friendlies
Volunteer for brunt of blame acquiesced toxic shame domain
Raging stirs steroid cortisol adrenaline cocktail brain
Idealize devalue sudden discard
Benevolent dictatorship abstained
Without the faintest regret or regard
Figured she was playing me but never thought she'd try so hard
Had a little influence pummeling blacksmith into bard
Feeling flashback symptoms PTSD
Reflux acid regurgitates anxiously
Facilities shut down my apogee
Estranged entanglement is indiscriminate vicinity
Projection deflects inspection detects proffered rejection
Upon reflection I/O failed connection
Reverse detail switched doppler direction
Attacked mine tranquility enacted thine stability
Great relationships determined by good portability
Amor Fati defeat of agony
Heroic transitions affirmation
Chinks of crevasse evasive to bypass
Labyrinth strings web of deceit light and dark unlikely meet
Shadows reconnection Schadenfreude revels surrection
Maze ambled afore trapped in Minotaur
Disintegrating reintegration
Unfurled divest individuation
Emergence of self under siege August surfacing intrigues
Sun god aims retribution penetrating air dilution
Perpetrating vengeful execution
Cyclop's blindsided coming attraction
Apollo's exaction vents extraction
Redress reclaimed door discharged from mine chore
Concussions cavitations roar gaff retrieved my staff from shore
Gangplank fastened transit for deck from wreck
Embodied under mass gravitation
Nothingness consistent contradiction
In retrospect ahead investigate that Which is suspect
Chastened flaming embers titillate orange September moon
Hastened retreat not an instant too soon
Burgeoning three wave prosperity shewn
Wave five trait mimics Echo past monsoon
Perpetually parallel dramas punctual insane
Aphrodite's inception purged migraine foam seethed fire in vain
Twain hath liquidity trickled down drain
Consult oracle ogle tangent plane
Bow to stern brood tempestuous coxswain
Demurrage fee aptly sought to regain lay of way terrain
Masked my gnashing lion waves stumble as they spread before me
Mountain rubble crumbles bloodied red sea
Locusts cannibalistic commotion
Uncanny notion overt devotion
Fixed betwixt twin scorpions stings subtle by a hares degree
One longs to age as seas submit one hole subliminally
Desire loves desire more than that desired
Overtime I find wanting displeasing
Fuel to fire Aphrodite’s teasing
Symptomatically nymphomaniac releasing
Random cosmos berth patterned beyond cyclic perimeter
Doth not feel momentum ye be the tide
Volume reduced ambient limiter
Futile to resist flow fatal to ride
Impressed by the strung rope ladder of unquestioned good status
Doctors orders therapeutic regressive Hedonism
Bureaucracy forced parentalism
Founding fathers Titan nepotism
The health preventative catechism
Give only to take away to give again another day
Rewards gods some token compensation
Anyone here not get paid besides me
Red light starboard wax eared crew rendezvous
Bounded by my sacrifice to irresponsibility
None of the other prize winning
players gamble here but me
Battened down fear gauge groups psychopathy
Ever since world went into bankruptcy
Call for Panic Zeus black masked his swan song
Yarn for youthful innocence gone stick slip traction moves this throng
Tread borderline separating time providing till from when
Uneven Titans tip unbalanced ships
Dualities tune unity in trine
One thing I did learn when within confine
Whom hath desire for nothing believes doth not need anything
Misinterpretation required missing zero still a thing
Axons bemoan sequence of no return
Feeling slight injustice step forward commandeer ambition
Venus akin to mine headache just better known rendition
Under spotlight favorite position
Internally propelled by externals
Take this Autumnal equinox swear on the cross tis vernal
All the gods explicitly sing chants how lucky I must be
Bring Mordor back to toss this precious ring
Prospect she fertilized inferring seed
Open union upon Which we agreed
Karma conflates heavens gates contrived in Pandemonium
Green shoots elate consummate concerns inspire Pavlovian
Theories cosigned conspiracies maligned
Impermanence ineffably refined
Ignorance binds energy disinclined
Universal conception pride of self
love contraception
Trying to be pliable but find it reprehensible
All dispensable Great Complacent Sea
Sizing words wisely rids ostensible
Lies the only guise now found comprehensible
Prophylactic allude to didactic
Though whilst I work at chore she’s Ares whore
I snagged them embarrassingly naked afore gods before
Yellen Helen neither nor wert worth war
Bowl of wrath judgement ignored poor decor
Titans empathizing with swimming clothes
In her throws she extolled excitement being extra exposed
Far be it from she to assume joint responsibility
Exponential debt credits game theory
On that we agree tis rigged currency
Opportunistic imperialists
Propaganda grasshoppers enlist ants backbone socialist
Can't remember when gathered last had a say any matter
Other nations forfeit right to do it
Export of inflation needs conduit
Concert donates borders New World Order
Blockchain came about when drunk bartender could not reach the spout
Yahweh will control all money now they have it figured out
Waiting for my minute to be clever
Stamp my name on the gods minds forever
My switchblade really needs to cut them off
No clue what the gods know only that they need to run the show Narcissistic parasites charisma lands entitlement
Vampires nourish roots to stunt encouragement
Protocol enticing invitation
Condemnation staged cooperation
Intolerable acts left no coercive tea leaves intact
Coven of bag passing Witches gave chase across red waters
Need another nine stitches sons twixt daughters
Waiting in the balance moment of force
Hatch guillotine MRI triggered source
Soaked up dripped Wyrmwood postulated solvent tasted good
Full equilibrium half ballast set assail for malice
Octobers placid benign chilled chalice
Brain scan photocell senses light all is well
If instead bulb shows dead off with thee head
Also as a godsend bonus honed mom’s splendid jury throne
Captive chaperone audience fettered judgement chains inlaid
Skipping to a Witch hunt after masquerade
Topside upper deck on the promenade
Propellor fashion later ohm made blade
Behooved turtle jail sac tail flailed back satyromaniac
Passionate parade personifying Nature of tirade
Horney gimp hind quarters brace graced limp
Llama spitting image of Obama
Clinton's dole out cigars contribute scars
All guests in attendance dressed as promised change we forget lest
Salubrious familiar strangers grooving Harvey Danger
Politically free redundancy
Reagan closed asylums threw away key
Identity hath no cost found when lost
Consolidations vibrate quantized sinusoidal noise
Pullback hull triangulate alow by my device and Echo
Feel lonely frost amongst the other masks
Survival is appeasing to their tasks
Remember November elect Semper
Meaning faithful to all members not just only archaic
On the way to office run your head
through photovoltaic
Vanishing quickly old liquidity
Seven plagues capsized immortality
The line hath paid out to the bitter end
Too big to sail exhale replications glorification
Night zeniths elevation nadirs sun's regeneration
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Excerpt from Nightlife

Joe had been a nocturnal creature all his life. Not a vampire, or a morlock, or whatever you call it. He was human. He just liked the night. Is anything wrong with that? No. of course not. To him, the night was a special time. The day was hectic, hot. The night was cool, both literally and figuratively. It made him happy. It was a time when people were in their beds, sleeping or possibly on the verge of sleep. Or maybe they were just like him, staying up, trying to win a bet, or something like that. Maybe they had insomnia. It was a mysterious time. In the age of technology, the world was connected, always talking, never stopping. But the night was the one sacred time left when things were calm and peaceful. The moon was there, the stars were out, and so on. And it was dark. When Joe saw a car passing on the street, he always wondered who those people were and where they were going. The mystery was even more intense at night. Could they be gangsters? Aliens? Corpses? Or just normal people like him? He would never know, and it drove him mad. Night life was fun to have. It gave you a sense of uniqueness, it made you feel like you were the only person in the world. They say the city never sleeps. Joe knew this as a fact. People may have been sleeping, but the buses kept running, the lights stayed on, the sounds kept going, and the voices kept talking. His favorite time of night was three in the morning. He had read once that they said three in the afternoon was the “light hour,” or the time when there was the least spiritual activity. And three in the morning was the “dark hour,” or the time when there was the least spiritual activity. Joe knew it was all hocus pocus, and there weren’t any spirits up at three in the morning, or any other time, really. But he still got chills up his spine whenever he was awake at three hours after midnight. Three was, for people who slept at night, the time when their bodies were in a coma like state. When Joe was younger, he used to get into the same coma like state. But now, he was wide awake every night at that time. Just knowing that somewhere out there, there were people who were dead unconscious, scared Joe. But only a little. Of course, it was not all fun and games at night. Joe had to earn a living somehow. So he got a job at a gas station just one mile from his house. There were two good things about night shifts: one, the pay was good, and two, there were fewer hours. It had been the same at every night shift he had ever worked at. And he loved it. The pay was good because the owner of the gas station was an idiot. Like most bosses, he assumed that night shifts were harder to pull off for each employee. So Joe got about fifty dollars more than the two people who worked there during the day, every day. And he loved it. There were fewer hours because, again, the boss assumed that night shifts were hard, and he wanted to let his employees off early. And Joe loved it. Of course, night shifts weren’t hard for Joe. He had changed his internal clock from day to night years ago. Now, he woke up at eight at night and went to sleep at nine in the morning. For him, the day was the night. And vice versa. He never told his boss that he liked night shifts, or the boss would, naturally, give him less pay and more hours. Every night, he stumbled in and looked very worried. “Shoo boy, here goes another night,” he would say. He would yawn, groan a little, and then get behind the register. He never kicked anything over or anything, though. Just mild contempt. Nothing too severe. “Here’s your cash,” the boss would say, and then shuffle out. Joe had him right where he wanted him. The boss was not really the boss. Joe was the boss. The boss would be a laughing stock if he owned a gas station and it closed at midnight. Gas stations are supposed to be open eternally. The boss was very scared that Joe might leave at some point, to go get some other job. And then the boss would have to find another guy, who, like Joe, was willing to stay up until the wee hours. There were very few people like Joe. So the boss tried desperately to keep Joe in there. Joe’s salary was raised by a few cents every week, just so the boss could keep the place open at night. Joe, of course, played like he was miserable, and didn’t like being there. And the boss ate it up. Joe was living the good life. Joe’s boss was an old fat guy, pretty much bald, and he always wore turtleneck sweaters. He looked like what you’d figure an old, fat guy in a turtleneck would probably look like, but maybe different. Joe always told his boss that he had a wife, who was waiting for him to get home. He didn’t have a wife. And he didn’t want to have a wife, because if he did, she really would wait for him to get home. Joe worked from ten at night to two in the morning, less hours than most people worked. After he left the gas station, he would walk around in the night air, or go to a restaurant, or watch movies, or whatnot, until the sun rose. Then, he would fall asleep. There was one problem with Joe’s job. When Joe got off work, somebody naturally had to take over from three in the morning until dawn. The gas station was open twenty four hours a day. So who filled those hours? Joe didn’t have a clue. The guy who worked after him was an enigma, a shadow person who he didn’t know. Only the boss knew, and he wasn’t telling. And the boss left the gas station when Joe started, so he never really got around to asking him. Joe knew who worked at the gas station for the whole day. There were two cashiers then, and Joe sometimes saw them, but only very rarely. One was named Kelly, and she was twenty something, blonde hair, pretty fat. The other one was named Aiko, and he said he was from Japan. Black hair, also twenty something, relatively skinny. Both of them were college kids. Joe was 40. It seemed a little strange for a forty year old guy to be working a small fry job like this, but the boss didn’t object. If he objected, he was short one night shift, and he didn’t want that. Joe wished he knew the guy who worked after him, but he always left before the guy got there, and if he hung around too long, he might look suspicious. Joe had only heard the mystery guy’s name once, and even then he wasn’t sure. One night, Joe had come into work, and the boss was talking to someone else. Joe didn’t know who he was. Maybe someone from higher up or something. Joe didn’t really know how the corporate world worked. “How many employees ya got?” said the guy. He was wearing a grey business suit and dress shoes, so he must have been pretty important. His hair had oil in it, his teeth were blinding, they were so white, and he had a thick New York accent. Joe could tell at his first glance that he didn’t really like him. At all. Not one bit. “I have four,” said the boss. “There’s Joe, over there. He works from the time when I leave until about two in the morning. He’s really loyal and a great guy. I wish he could come over and meet you, but he’s busy right now.” This was not true. Joe was just pretending to shuffle some things around. He didn’t want to meet the New York guy. But he continued to overhear. “Then I have two day employees,” the boss continued. “Kelly and Aiko. Sometimes they work individually, and other times they work together. They’re real helpful, too.” At this time, Joe was concentrated on his fake work even more. “There’s one other guy,” said the boss. “He works here from two in the morning to dawn. His name is ouaheauyhayeo...” Joe grit his teeth! He was doing his fake work so hard that he had tuned out to the conversation, and the boss’s words became gibberish just at the moment when he was going to say the mystery guy’s name. After the New York guy and the boss said a few more things, they both shuffled out, and Joe punched himself in the jaw for being such a bad snoop. So Joe never really knew the mystery guy’s name. It was one of his worst memories. It tormented him, day after day. Sometimes, the memory was very intense. It was almost like he was there, listening to the conversation, And he would hear the guy’s name, but it was only gibberish like before. He tried to recall the gibberish, have it make sense in his head. It wouldn’t, no matter how many times he replayed it in his mind. Sometimes, instead of just having a memory about it, he had nightmares about it. He would wake up, screaming, in broad daylight. He had two types of these nightmares, and they were both equally horrible. In the first kind, he would be listening to the conversation, but right before the boss said the guy’s name, he was interrupted somehow. Sometimes, a rock fell on his head and split it in two. Other times, the dream would just cut out. In the second type of nightmare, Joe was listening to the conversation, like before, and this time he heard the guy’s name, but it was a really weird and bizarre name. Coochirango. Galarkey. Bobo. He hoped the guy wasn’t named any of those. Still, they were kinda cool. After he had the nightmares, Joe decided to stop thinking about the mystery guy. It was tormenting him, and it didn’t really affect his life in any way. Besides, he might find out some other day. After he had stopped thinking about the mystery guy, life went on pretty much like it always had. Joe would wake up at eight or nine, come down to the gas station, say hi to the boss, and work until two in the morning. One night, a man with a beard and a lot of tattoos stopped by. When he entered the gas station, The little bell rung. When Joe had gotten this job, at first it seemed cute, but now it was just as annoying as shit. The tattoo guy proceeded to go up and down the aisles, like an insane person who came there for no reason. Joe was bored. He entertained himself by tapping on the counter. The tattooed man kept walking. He was whistling some kind of tune, and Joe did not like this, because he had never learned how to whistle. The tattoo guy kept walking. Finally, the tattoo man got a bag of potato chips, and walked up to the counter. He was wearing a tank top. Joe did not like him. “What flavor are these potato chips?” said the tattoo man. “Ranch, sir,” said Joe. “It says that right there on the bag.” Joe didn’t know if the guy was trying to be funny or if he was just an idiot. Either way, he still didn’t like him. The tattoo guy held the bag up to his ear. Then he squished it, hard. A hideous crunching sound emanated from the bag. “I can hear from these potato chips that they’re all broken,” said the tattoo guy. “I guess I’ll have to get a new bag. I don’t like mine broken.” “Sir, if you don’t like yours broken, why did you break all those?” By this point, Joe was pretty sure he was on LSD, or maybe drunk. “I broke them?” said the tattoo guy. “YOU BROKE THEM!” At this point the tattoo guy shoved the bag in Joe’s face. By this point Joe was positive that the guy was not on drugs. He was just a jerk. “Sir, I’m afraid we can’t sell broken potato chips,” said Joe. “You’ll have to buy them.” The tattoo guy payed him no mind, and went back to the potato chip aisle, contemplating which flavor he wanted. “Sir,” said Joe, “Please just take the chips and leave.” The tattoo man went back up to Joe, pulled out some money, and payed Joe. Then he went out of the gas station. Joe decided not to call the cops, because he didn’t know if the tattoo guy had committed a crime. Maybe he hadn’t. If he hadn’t, he would be wasting the police’s time. Joe kept working the gas station. The customers at night were weird. At night they were not normal. There were hundreds of mohawks, tattoos, body modification. Really weird stuff. And some of them were drunk. A lot of them. Joe went out of the gas station at two in the morning, like he did every night. As he looked back, he saw a shadow enter the building. He figured it was the mystery guy. But he stopped thinking about him. He didn’t want to think about him. He went down to a hamburger joint on 33rd. It was a good place to eat. He went there a lot. He ordered a hamburger, no cheese, and some french fries. The prices here were reasonable. The whole shebang only cost four dollars. The fries were a little salty, but okay in terms of how fries could be. He remembered once, when he was a kid, his grandpa told him that when he was a kid, they called french fries “shoestring potatoes,” and they were much thinner, almost like spaghetti. He thought it sounded cool, and he had always wanted to try some, but no restaurants ever had them on the menu anymore, so he couldn’t get any. As for making some himself, he wasn’t much of a chef. He could make normal french fries fine, but he didn’t think he could cut potatoes as thin as spaghetti. He had never been too handy with a knife. The burger was good, a little well done, but it had pickles and lettuce, both of which evened out the flavor okay. All in all, good to eat. He paid the waiter a fifty cent tip. Sure, it wasn’t much, but then again, he didn’t have much money, so he couldn’t give too many tips. He looked out the window. It was raining, and it looked pretty bad, so he decided to take a bus home. He didn’t like cabs. The drivers of those things were always smelly and talked like New Yorkers, either because they really were or because they wanted to seem like what you’d think a cab driver would be like. He hated cabs. And he wasn’t up to date yet with those cabs that were really just cars or whatever. Those were fricking weird. And he didn’t have a cellphone, so that didn’t work for him. Why have normal people drive normal cars? Aren’t taxis enough? Anyway, he walked half a block down to the bus stop. It wasn’t too long before the bus pulled up. There was a long line of people behind Joe, and he didn’t want to hold them up, so he grabbed out his wallet and opened it like a madman. Twenty quarters spilled all over the floor. He didn’t want to pick them up, though. But then he picked up some and dropped them in the slot. May as well not waste money. “You’re a dime short, bub,” said the bus driver. Joe was not named Bub. Joe started looking through his wallet. “Shoot,” said Joe. “I only have five dollar bills. I might have a dime in my pocket, though.” “Forget about it,” Said the bus driver. He let Joe go through. He found a seat between a hobo that smelled sort of like pee and a fat lady who was knitting. He didn’t know why she was knitting. It’s not like a bus ride is that long or anything. Definitely not long enough to knit a sweater. Then a tire blew out in the back. The sound was like a bullet. Joe thought he was dead for a second. The bus bumped up and own a little, then there was a hideous squeaking sound and the bus halted to a complete stop. “Sorry, everyone,” said the bus driver, whose breath stank like onions. “This bus is out of commission as of right now, so you’re all gonna have to get on the next one. It’ll come in about 30 minutes. I know it’s hard to handle, but this happens very rarely. Have a good night, ok? Sorry.” Joe got off, as did everyone else. It was then that Joe realized that the bus he was on had been going in the wrong direction. He was farther from his house now than he had been at the hamburger place. The rain was really pouring down now, in sheets, and most of the people who had gotten off the bus just decided to walk. But Joe decided to stay. One of the few people who was also staying was a lady and her screaming toddler. The screaming was very annoying. “Hush, hush, baby,” said the mother, even though her kid was clearly four years old. “Cute baby ya got there,” Joe said sarcastically. He hoped he wouldn’t get smacked by the mother, but luckily she didn’t catch on and took it as a sincere compliment. “Thanks. I’m trying to get him to calm down, but he just won’t listen.” She shoved a peppermint in his mouth, and he stopped wailing. Joe felt like he was in a swimming pool, and had a hard time breathing. The wait was very long, even though it was really only 30 minutes. The rain kept pouring down, and he was sick of it. So he held his arm up over his head, as if that would fix it. It didn’t. Finally, the bus came. He paid his fare in some more quarters. He didn’t know where they came from. Then he sat at the back. This bus was much less crowded. It was four in the morning. He sat down between a guy who looked like a serial killer and another fat lady who was reading a book. The guy had a hoodie on. It said, “Do you want to die?” and then a skull with blood dripping out of its eyes. Joe hoped that it wasn’t sincere. The creep had eye shadow on. Joe guessed that he was one of those weirdos who call themselves gothic or whatnot. He didn’t like those kind of people. The fat lady was reading a book that looked vaguely erotic. Joe realized that she was a weirdo too. He didn’t know why she’d be reading something like that, since she was too old and fat to have a love life. Or maybe she did have a husband, but then why would she be reading an erotic book? Joe didn’t know what to think anymore. The bus ride home was very bumpy. Joe had bad experiences with the night like that on a regular basis, but he didn’t mind. The night was his oyster. Or lobster. Or whatever. He loved it, and he would never go back to living during the day. On one occasion, Joe was minding the cash register, as per usual. Business had been slow this one night. Only two customers had popped in. Still, Joe had a job to do, so he waited behind the counter. To keep himself busy, he pulled out a crossword puzzle he had gotten from the newspaper. Off in the distance, the clock struck twelve. He had two more hours to go. The crossword puzzle was very hard. So hard, you would think Einstein had written it, just to mess with the general public who didn’t know sticks about science. But then again, Einstein couldn’t have been too bright either, what with how he sticks his tongue out for the camera. One of the clues was “A long piece of furniture, usually soft, which one sits on or lies down on to relax.” Joe could only think of “couch,” but the damn thing had nine letters and started with q. He was getting sick of the whole thing, so he threw it on the floor and squashed it under his shoe. There was mop water on the floor, so it got soggy. The newspaper he had gotten the puzzle from was not from his house. He didn’t subscribe to newspapers. They wasted paper and most of the stuff in them was dull. Instead, he found the newspaper in the gutter on his way to work. It was dry, and it was the entertainment section, which was the only good part, so he had brought it with him. The entertainment section talked some about celebrities and movies and tv shows a lot. That was the dumb part. The fun stuff was the puzzles and comics. Actually, just the comics, since the puzzles were too hard. One of them was about a dog who did a lot of funny shit, and another of them was about a kid who did a lot of funny shit, and another one was about a family who did a lot of funny shit. Joe remembered that when he was a kid, he read the newspaper comics a lot. He liked how the cartoon characters from as far back as the forties were still in there. But now, as he looked through them, he felt sheer contempt. They were the same characters and all, down to the letter, but now they made references to computers and shit. How was this possible? If they were characters from the forties, when computers didn’t exist, how could their universes alter so that they had computers once their comics were brought into the modern era? You could tell these cartoon characters looked like they were in the fifties, but if they were, they couldn’t have technology. He could get it if they actually aged in real time, so that they were in the modern age with computers. But no. This was some kind of bizarre amalgam of old and new, something which weirded him out a lot. There was also a sports page. In the first place, joe didn’t like it because he hated sports. Just his sheer contempt of sports was enough to make him hate it. But there were other things about it, too. The sport section was ten pages long. It was an atrocity. It was a waste of paper. Nobody needed ten pages about guy bumping into each other and doing a bunch of silly stuff with a ball. Really, how deep could you go on that kind of thing? It didn’t seem like the kind of thing somebody could write ten pages about. It didn’t demand that much speculation. The other thing he hated about it was that it was written as if you knew who all the players were. It would talk about Harvey Mulroni and how he scored 2-10 over Westdale, and how Coach Karby decided to throw him out. For people who stayed up to date on this kind of thing, it would make sense, but for people who were only mildly interested, like Joe, he didn’t know who Coach karby or Harvey Mulroni were. He didn’t know any of the players on his hometown team. He got the baseball team and the football team confused. He didn’t know what a touchdown was, or if the super bowl was a real football stadium. He was in the dark about everything related to sports. There was also a lot of celebrities and stuff. So he put the newspaper aside. He was very bored now. Not tired, no, but bored. He looked at his watch. Only five minutes had passed since he had picked up the newspaper. It would be a long while until two in the morning. He was sick of it. He walked over to the place where the hot dogs were made. They were buttery and greasy. The hot dog oven was a complex machine. There were about 20 black, rotating tubes on the bottom of it. They were arranged side by side. The hot dogs themselves were nestled in the crevices in between. Above the hot dogs were bright heating lamps which prevented the hot dogs from spoiling, and kept them from getting cold. And as Joe stood there, watching them sizzle, he realized that he really wanted one. Badly. “NO!” he thought. “What the fricking flip am I thinking? Everyone knows that gas station hot dogs taste like a bag of garbage soaked in gasoline and then eaten by 20 pounds of maggots!” Or was that just popular opinion? He leaned closer, and looked deeper. After all, if nobody ever tried them, how would they know what they tasted like? Was their being bad just an urban myth? He wanted to try something new. Something exciting. Something different and mind opening. Something super cool. The hot dogs were roughly six inches long, with a little whatchamacallit on the ends, and coated with yummy grease. His nostrils inhaled the scent. His eyes closed a little more. The hot dogs were hypnotizing him. But would it be shoplifting to take one and eat it, if he was an employee? He guessed so. There were security cameras all over. But he just wanted to bite down into it, and feel the processed meat, cascading over his teeth, and have it slide down his throat. Then he realized that he was weird for him to be thinking about a hot dog like that. But if he wanted to buy something from the gas station, how could he do it? He was the only employee there. It would be weird to pay himself. Was that wrong to do? He didn’t know. He was very bad at his job. He picked up the hot dog. It was luke warm. His first day at work, he had been told where the hot dog buns were, just in case anyone would like to see what a bag of garbage soaked in gasoline and then eaten by 20 pounds of maggots would taste like. Nobody ever wanted to. Except now. Joe lowered the buns down from the shelf, and slipped the hot dog into the bun. He knew that the security cameras were watching him. He could put the hot dog down, back into the oven right now, and be done with it. But what would the point of that be? It would mean he had admitted defeat. He went over to the condiment table. There, set out before him, were a cornucopia of ketchup packets, mustard packets, and relish, with colorful designs on them. There was usually a little pit full of onions, which had some tongs, but it was empty right now. He didn’t care. He didn’t like onions. They were too spicy. And they made him cry. He ripped open the condiment packets, carefully, making sure not to spill them. First the ketchup. It was blood red. It smelled like tomatoes. For a moment, Joe wondered why it smelled like tomatoes, and then thought he was stupid for not remembering that ketchup was made out of tomatoes. He squeezed the packet gently, between his fingers, holding the small opening over the processed meat. It oozed out, ever so slowly. He made sure to cover every inch of the hot dog. He didn’t want to leave any bare spots. Next, the mustard. He figured it might be made out of lemons, but really, he didn’t know what the hell it was made out of. Dijon something or another? What was mustard, anyway? He didn’t know, at all. He squeezed it, just like the ketchup, on every square inch of processed meat, taking care not to leave any mustard free spots. There was less mustard in one packet than there was ketchup in one packet. He used two. Finally, the relish. It was chunky, and it was a viscous liquid with many, many little chunks of pickle in it. They had an acidic odor. It didn’t come out too easy, but his diligence paid off. The deed was done. There was no turning back now. The condiments had been placed, strategically, like a game of chess. Joe hated chess. Hesitantly, Joe put his hand in his pocket. Ironically, the very salary he got for selling products was going to be used to buy one of those products. Capitalism could be very silly sometimes. He didn’t know if he liked it. He gasped when he realized that his wallet was not there, but then breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was in his other pocket. He pulled it out, took out two dollars, and inserted it back into his pocket. Then, he slipped over to the cash register, said that a hot dog was being purchased just like for a customer, and slipped the two dollars into the drawer. The boss would never know the difference, and the security cameras were rarely ever checked anyway. He stuffed the hot dog into his mouth. Aiko stepped in. Joe screamed. “Hi, Joe. I forgot my jacket here earlier today. I thought I might as well pick it up. I heard it was going to be cold tomorrow.” Joe tried to hide his face. He looked like a glutton. Or a pig. Or whatever it is you call someone who eats too much. The bun was sticking out of his mouth. “You’re trying one of those hot dogs?” Aiko said. He was smiling. “I had heard they tasted like a bag of garbage soaked in gasoline and then eaten by 20 pounds of maggots. You must be pretty crazy to pull off a stunt like that.” Joe was mortified. Nobody but him would ever think to pull off a stunt like this. Not in their right minds. “Acshuwee, iss pweyy goo,” said Joe. His mouth was still full. “No thu bess haw daw ah ewer tashte, buh pweyy goo.” He didn’t know if Aiko could understand him. “Ok, sure, man, whatever you say,” said Aiko. Joe tried to swallow a little more of the hot dog. It was very hard to do. He almost choked. “Are you kidding me, just so you don’t look stupid? I know those things taste bad. They’ve got to. You’re faking, right?” said Aiko. “Yesh,” said Joe. He had been faking the whole time. It tasted worse than a bag of garbage soaked in gasoline and then eaten by 20 pounds of maggots. It tasted like a bag of garbage soaked in gasoline and then eaten by 21 pounds of maggots. But the condiments were okay. “Why do you do this, Joe?” said Aiko. “How can you stay up all night? How is it possible? You must have really bad insomnia, or something.” Joe could not tell Aiko about his love for the night, or Aiko would tell the boss, and that would mean a lower salary and more hours. “Yesh,” said Joe. “Or summfing.” He had narrowly avoided a predicament. “Maybe you should tell your doctor about it,” said Aiko. “This job must be hell for you.” Aiko sounded funny, because of how wrong he was. “Yesh,” said Joe. The last of the hot dog slid down his throat. Now the embarrassment was gone from his body. He felt a wave of relief. “Well, see you around, man,” said Aiko, slipping on his jacket. “Enjoy the maggots!” “You’re a real kidder, Aiko!” said Joe. He gave out a small, nervous laugh. The little bell rang. Aiko had disappeared into the night, never to be seen again, at least until the next time Joe saw him. Joe clutched his stomach. He ran to the bathroom. He stayed there until his shift was over. No customers came. Bad things like this happened all the time to Joe. But he did not care. He was impervious to whatever mishaps befell him. At least, somewhat. One night, after work, he was looking for some action. Not sex or booze or anything, but maybe just a fun place to hang out. For a while, anyway. Do some dancing, watch some sports or something, something like that. There was a new club that had opened on the other side of town. It was called the party house. Joe thought it was a stupid name. It sounded like a kid’s tv show. When he got to the door, he immediately noticed the bouncer. He hated bars that had bouncers. It was insane. He thought that if a business couldn’t accept certain people, it shouldn’t be a business. The bouncer was an enormous black man with veins in his muscles and steel toed boots. Joe was not happy, and he considered just going away, but he kind of still wanted to have fun. Maybe. The bouncer grabbed him by the shoulder before Joe even indicated that he wanted to go in. “How old is you, little man?” said the bouncer. Joe whimpered a little, like a sick puppy that had been left out in the rain. “F-forty,” said Joe. “Can’t you tell that I’m old enough? I’m n-not a teenager!” “Ha, ha,” said the bouncer. “I was just kiddin’ with you, little man. I know you’re old enough. Have a good time.” The bouncer released Joe’s shoulder. It ached. Joe hated “funny” employees. The doctor who tells you you have cancer when you really don’t. The pharmacist who tells you they’re all out of your medicine, when they’re really not. The waitress who tells you that they’re out of ice cream. Joe hated these people because when he went somewhere for a service, he expected a quality treatment, not some stupid prank. Those people oughta get fired, he thought. He especially hated that bouncer. There was no false advertising at the party house. It was a party house. It was the wrong kind of party for Joe. He liked laid back parties where you could talk to people, maybe some cookies, like that. This was not that kind of party. This was a wild party. “Wild” maybe being an understatement. The lights were so intense that when he first got into the door, Joe thought that he was blind. There were all the colors of the rainbow, amplified so much that they weren’t pretty anymore. They moved all over, very erratically, insanely, never stopping, just going on and on and on. The sound was so loud that Joe thought he was deaf. There was a huge rock group onstage, doing guitar shit and stuff like that. The lead singer looked like an insane person. The music had no tune, just a bunch of guitar strumming and science fiction noises, turned up to maybe one billion octillion decibels. How could anyone stand it? There were 100 teenagers in the middle of the floor. They moved around like people who have been possessed by the devil. Never stopping, just going on. And on. And on. There was a giant mosh pit in the middle of the floor. “YAHHHAHAHHAAHA!” said a fat guy who was behind Joe, bumping into him. Joe fell into the pit, spraining his ankle. He didn’t have much time to think about the intense white hot needles of pain surging through his body, though. “COWABUNGA!” said the fat man, as if it was still the nineties, and landed on top of Joe. Joe gasped for air. The fat man was on top of his head. Below him was the cold hard floor. His head was being crushed. He felt like he was suffocating. He was absolutely correct. The music kept playing. The fat man got off. Joe stood up. Then the fat man slapped him on the back, and Joe fell down onto the floor again. He hated this place. Then the fat guy went away. Joe had a hard time getting out, because he was injured, and because the masses of idiots clawed and grabbed at his shirt and pants as if they were the hordes of the undead. As he went out, he passed the bouncer. The bouncer was smoking a joint of marijuana. “Aaaww, goin’ out, little man?” said the bouncer. “Party too intense for ya?” “Yes, sir,” said Joe. “Much too intense. I don’t think I’ll ever come here again.” The bouncer laughed, and Joe went off once more into the night. Yes, bad things like this happened all the time to Joe, but he didn’t care. It was his life, and it was enjoyable, despite what ever happened in it. He was a fine man. A real character, with a strong will to live. On his way home, he thought about his life. It was something special, his life. Something that nobody else had. He liked it a lot. Well, some other people had it, but they were few and far between. Nobody else stayed up at night like him. He passed the houses in his neighborhood. He knew this neighborhood very well. He had lived here for about a decade, maybe more. He knew it like a book. Except for his neighbors, who he didn’t like. They were nosy and weird and shit. The streetlights were on above his head. He thought about how much electricity they put out. He thought about what was producing that electricity. Some power plant, miles away. Hundreds of workers burning fossil fuels and the like. He would never know those workers. The city at night was creepy, in a way, because you didn’t know who people were. He got home, and inserted the key into the lock, just like he did every night. Well, actually, like he did every morning, since by now it was six o’ clock. He made himself a dinner of noodles and tomato sauce. It was good, but he wished he had some shoestring potatoes. Those would be very good with this. The noodles were not spaghetti. They were the little ones that looked like bowties. He pondered on these a moment. He knew that they were authentically Italian, probably Italian since ancient times. But he wondered. Why were they invented? Why would anybody need a food that looked like a fashion accessory? Were they invented as a novelty? Did some pasta maker, one day, just think it would be fun to make a pasta that looked like a bowtie, and that a lot of people would buy because it would be fun? Or was it invented out of necessity, like some inventions? And, if so, why would they need to look like bowties? Why not just make normal noodles? Joe didn’t know, and by this point, he didn’t really care. He just ate the noodles. They were pretty good for something he had made. After downing the whole plate of noodles, he went to bed. He didn’t have any dreams. He rarely did. On one occasion, Joe was minding the gas station, as per usual, when an old lady walked in and picked a soft drink from the coolers in the back. She had curlers in her hair, and she was wearing a pink bathrobe. She hobbled around on a metal walker. The legs of it were stuck into tennis balls. Joe didn’t know why old people stuck the legs of their walkers into tennis balls. Why not just get one with wheels? It didn’t look that good. Were tennis balls good to put on walkers? The old lady got a soda pop. Joe didn’t like soda pop. Not because it was full of sugar, but because it was only made by two companies. There were no independent soft drinks anymore, and if there were, he had never seen any. Corporate America at its most evil. He still drank it, though. All the time. The soda pop was sugar water with other stuff thrown in. “I only have pennies,” said the old lady. Joe wasn’t in the mood to count pennies, but he liked pennies, and didn’t want to make them obsolete, and they were legal currency, after all, so he had to accept the damn things. The old lady’s purse was deep red, kind of made out of velvet. Joe didn’t know what velvet was, but he figured it was some kind of polyester thingy, maybe something different. The old lady reached her hand in there, and pulled out a huge handful of pennies. Joe didn’t even know how her hand had such a huge capacity. It was amazing. She dropped the pennies down on the table like a construction crane releasing twenty tons of dynamite. There was a loud sound, almost ear grating. The pennies, of course, rolled all over, and roughly sixty four percent of them fell onto the floor. The old lady started to crouch down and pick the pennies up. “No, no, wait, let me help you,” said Joe. He didn’t want to, but he really liked the elderly, and she looked like she had a back injury. Joe spent about five minutes on the floor, picking up those little coins, reaching under the cracks and stuff, looking around some corners. After what seemed like a tremendous feat, he had collected the whole two dollars’ worth. Now he had a back injury. “Sorry about all the trouble,” said the old lady. One of her hair curlers had popped out. “Oh, that’s fine, ma'am,” said Joe. “I really enjoyed it very much.” Joe was a master of sarcasm. Luckily, the old lady didn’t notice he was being sarcastic. “Have you seen Hot Nards?” said the old lady. Joe didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. “I’m afraid I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, ma’am,” said Joe. He realized that he had spoken his thoughts. Luckily, the lady only shrugged at his lewd profanity. Joe realized that what he had said sounded like a butler. “It’s this show on TV,” said the old lady. “It’s really very funny. I guess it’s what you of the younger generation call the ‘in crowd’ and all that!” Joe didn’t call anything the ‘in crowd’. And he wasn’t that young, now that he thought about it. Forty was halfway to the end. “Anyway,” continued the old lady, “There’s this guy who meets this other guy. And they both like gummy worms, right? So they start eating them. But then, his girlfriend, Clarissa, steals their apartment, so he has to get it back, and oh boy does he do it in the craziest ways possible!” This was only a rough interpretation of what the old lady was saying. Joe wasn’t really paying attention. “So Pret, and his old army buddy, Hank, find the key, and they try to go in, right? But it turns out it’s a frame up, and so the police catch them off guard!” Here the old lady whirled around, waved her hands around, rolled her eyes, and made a sound like a police siren. Whatever the hell this show was, Joe was never going to watch it. Or even look it up. “So then they’re in prison, right?” said the old lady. “They’ve cut the cards, their futures are on the line, and they could suck the bucket if they don’t get it right. But then, just in the nick of time, at the end of season one, they get the governor’s pardon, and they go scot free! Except for the security guard. He ends up okay.” Joe didn’t know why the old lady thought he would be interested in this. Maybe she was just really senile and didn’t know what was a good tv show.
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Best Billiard Cloth  Top 10 Best Billiard Cloth CC7554 Motion: Crossword Mini YouTube Spanish lotto and football pool coupons Animals in French - Crossword

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Best Billiard Cloth Top 10 Best Billiard Cloth

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