"Take the car keys out of your pocket, before you put your mittens on"
Over the "break," I was feeling danceable in flannel, touring all-night diners with my pregnant Styrofoam cup. Yes, I've been opening doors for it. It tastes like rice cakes, cardboard, and red meat conservatives. Mr. Dick has had four heart attacks and a quadruple bypass.
Sorry for the absence. My muse was in a secret detaining center, experiencing a kind of electroshock therapy. Doctors at the Washington University Hospital also gave Chaney an electric shock
"No one quite knows the reason. It could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right. It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were to tight. But I think that the most likely reason of all May have been that his heart was two sizes too..." Irregular.
I feel like a 1969 Jimi strumming a different kind of banner, alienated by another gunpowder filled Veterans Day as more than a dozen members of an antiwar veterans group were arrested while dusting off their civil rights. We're deafened in headaches of red, white, and blue vigils of nationalistic pride honoring the behavior of Benito Mussolini and Stalin's mustache.
The Elementary school had a "Wall of Peace." Once again, Jennifer Love Hewitt told us Veterans help keep the freedom of speech, travel, and purchase--the new american'ts Trinity. A gods-blessed belated Veteran's Day wearing Stalin's mustache, and an American flag do-rag.
"So that was Mrs. Lundegaard on the floor in there. And I guess that was your accomplice in the wood chipper. And those three people in Brainerd. And for what? For a little bit of money. There's more to life than a little money, you know. Don't you know that? And here ya are, and it's a beautiful day. Well, I just don't understand it."
Our own Fargo's Finest graces the BBC: "Oh my. Where? Yeah? Aw geez. Okay, there in a jif. Real good, then." World news looks at our flannel wearing all-night diner town, "Lazy" or "creative" policework looks back as Ozzy Osbourne bites the head off of Cass County Sheriff Paul Laney. Our local Puritanical gardens can taste the second coming.
" So ya went and married Norm Son-of-a-Gunderson!" Perhaps somewhere in a ditch lies the money, waiting to be burned by an unwilling farmer or placed as payment for that new pick-em-up truck with a fresh yellow painted snow plow.
"Keep it still back there, lady, or else we're gonna have to, ya know, to shoot ya."