I have tickets to see Shelby Oaks tonight…
But I have a slamming headache. Between the weather change, which I adore, and all the Trumpean lunacy every second of every day on every broadcast, I’m just looking for the right hole to invade.
This weekend will be my last book appearance for a while. Next weekend will be my reintroduction to the Dallas open mic scene. People listen in person; they could give two poops and a poke on social media. Why would they? With some choice words and the click of a button, they can perform their own bit of emotionless mediocrity. Art is dead.
Too cosmic to contest; too pooped to partake. Our electronic overlords would squash us with their bootheels if they brandished footwear.
Gimme a neverending bag of flower, Hair Nation on Sirius XM, and a videogame arcade. Beyond that, the oligarchs can do what they wish.
You can come visit. The couch folds out. BYOP.
Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon.








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