From now on, I'll be choosin the adventures around here.

Good God, man!

Good God!

This is what I have trouble understanding: how the hell does traffic completely stop on a damn interstate?! What set of conditions is necessary to bring a writhing snake of cars to an utter standstill? Somewhere near the front a car has to be stopped, right? Because if a car in the front is moving at normal speed, the car behind it should be moving at normal speed, and the car behind it—

But still, somehow, traffic finds a way to stop completely.

. . .

I left my toothbrush at the Goat paddock, which I guess is now also . . . Cybertron. This was after the massive gay orgy. Kevin and Ryan and Goathead and I were all drinking and watching Beakman and decided, why not all make out. It was disgusting. And then the police arrived and they sort of shrugged and said, why not all make out. And then the mayor of Des Moines came over to find out why the police were calling for more and more backup, and the mayor sort of shrugged and said, why not all make out. And then God Himself descended to chastise us but He said—

And then the weight of all those bodies sent us smashing through the floor, into the Den of Complaining Minorities below. And they reallyknew how to do some makin out.

I really did forget my toothbrush, though. Damn it.

. . .

Packages look much cooler when they're stamped all to hell. I got a literary journal in the mail yesterday that's stamped with three different stamps, two mailing labels, three red MEDIA MAILs, a bar code, and the postmark, and it looks cool as hell. I'm a spy now, and this is my passport. Yeah. Yeah.