Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

I am sure you are all tired of the Rapture, which did or didn’t happen. I guess it depends on how you feel about the state of your life. Morrissey is all well and good, but I know you are wondering about *me*. I can picture you now, hunched over your 3pm snack, licking salt from your fingertips, typing “Lambchop”, “beneath a house” and “Tuscaloosa” into your google image search. Be careful what you google, darlings. For example, do not google the word “finger” or “horse head”.

Oh, but I belong to the League of Eternally Dissatisfied. The weather is even quite fine, so it is a real tax on the imagination to find something to complain about. A cannon of serotonin exploded in my brain last week and now though I appear entirely functional, I am squirting an impotent fizz of miserable bubbles, like a broken windex dispenser. I spent the better part of the day reading the trial testimony of Elizabeth Smart. If you clawed at the delightful pandora’s box of “horse head” (against my advice) do yourself a favor and do not read that. I really can’t think of anything worse to know about. You can trust me to find out if that is literally true!

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