A letter from the Bureau of Foolish Decisions arrived to tell me to buy flood insurance. Apparently there is a 1% chance per year of encountering a Hundred Year Flood, based on the fact that the place is basically a fucking houseboat. I don’t get it, because it’s not a 100 year mortgage, so, duh, we’ll never make a 100% chance. At least that’s what I think I learned in seventh grade math.
I don’t even know what term the mortgage is. We’re giving them some money, and then that continues until we get tired of the place, just like renting. In the end, we don’t actually own anything, because only $12 a month goes to principal. But theoretically we’ll make money via this not owning anything since the non-owned property becomes more valuable when other people pay more to not really own in it in several years.
I need to lie down. I done thought too much. I am going to see if buying a canoe would count as flood insurance. It seems like a handy thing to have anyway. And I could beat bird flu victims to death with the paddles.
The Bureau of Foolish Divisions has a whole branch devoted to me.
Oh, who’s your caseworker? I deal with Gina.
Don’t think – you’ll only damage your pituitary. Thinking is bad for you!
My caseworker is Snoopy. He is mad because I said his Van Gogh is a fraud.