"Will we get him? Finally?"
No, Cheevers. For he is not of this world, the One. Number Six is tossing rolls of toilet paper in their way, too, keeping the fiends at bay as they stop to pick up each roll individually.
"Can't spare any."
"Not even a square?"
"Can't spare a square."
We are observing a different timetable, a resumed countdown to annihilation. This is not the Democrats and the Republicans, but you and me, uncommitted voters.
This mutha spittin'.
Number One is still partly removed from reality, partly not, having only a few schizoid perceptions of the real world, like McConnell not wanting to pass a new Stimulus, and the big girl with the pretty smile at McDonalds. So you see, its not all bad, but it is a Pollock of the world.
It was a lie agreed upon by all of them. "Dogpile Frenchy" they told each other, but the Friendly Ghost had yet to make his will known. Then it would have been uphill, but if only he agreed with their crazy plan.
Meanwhile, he further separated himself, divorced himself from the unpleasantness, as much as he could. MP3's blaring. Customers screaming random obscenities in the parking lot. International Chicken sandwiches for lunch, which he ate in the truck, not even really wanting even to roll the window down.
Gone to the mattresses.
The superman. King ding-dong. Magilla. The Abber.
Couldn't get it straight in the real world, how things went down, how burning buildings collapse, and all that. People wanting the truth, but seeming to want to accuse. China being mum, and as always, "Your Mum rates Natalie". I heard this all somewhere before, maybe even before it happened, as of a briefing to a political leader, but when I heard it I said:
"That'll never happen; its too far-fetched."
9 pure-bred bastards in Department 12, "but they ride like there are 150 of them."
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