Archie Bunker, Reincarnated
I made four disks in total, all full of really terrible music for Paul and Kipp to enjoy as they travel the �fun belt� of America. Places like Montana, one of those Dakotas, Idaho (No, you da ho), Minnesota, and some other places to frightening to mention. Just thinking about it makes me want an enema.
They need these disks; they are vital to not dying of absolute boredom in the American Mid West. I know that those of you who live there happen to like it very much, thank you. You also do not know better. I have lived in every region of America except the Pacific Northwest, I do know better. Me leaving the American North Atlantic would take an act of God in proportion to Jonah or a good paying job in Scandinavia, Great Britain, or Western Europe.
Back to Kipp and Paul�s disks: I made these four disks of music on iTunes and with a supplement of two �Emergency Buzz Nets� which are just doubles of pictures I had around the house with crude, inappropriate or outright lame captions. I was going to add in some excellent pornography to be enjoyed by any true believing Neo Con, �George W. Bush, and His Family Paper Dolls.� Roar. I went on a clandestine mission to Barnes and Noble and Borders to acquire this excellent smut.
Upon leaving Barnes and Noble, my car was surrounded by jaywalking hippies. They were filthy, their clothes did not match, and they were not gainfully employed. I had a moment of road rage, sitting there at a green light while they stood around my car pushing their stolen grocery cart of protest paraphernalia, where I thought, �I could improved the unemployment statistics if hit the gas right now.� We have sidewalks in Connecticut and ample time for those people to cross.
When I got to Borders, (it is across the street, I live in urban America) they did not have the book either. I did see a Hannity book that my friend Emily is reading so I picked it up and when I did one of the hippies that was milling about blocking my car earlier touched me.
Now, I am not just opposed to hippies touching me, but people in general. I took a class where they taught me how to deflect people�s advances for human affection and drilled my cousins in it before we went to Grandma�s wake and funeral. There is never a situation where it is appropriate for you to touch me, never. So, this hippie touched me. All I could think was, �If she had a job she would be too busy to touch me.� I acted as if I did not see her and snatched my arm back.
I left Borders and drove to the Post Office. Paul and Kipp would have to drive across America without my porn. At the post office there was no line so I new I was in for a time. When the post office is slow, they hassle you. The woman wanted me to cross out �Paulsylvania� on the address information. Who the hell cares? I do. Threw a tantrum that would remind most of my students of Fudge from �Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing.� I am surprised I did not throw myself on the floor. I also forgot my debate card and had to pay cash. Paying cash is so novel; it is like the eighties. I miss the eighties: Big hair, Reagan, and Pac Man. What more could you want? Finally, the woman saw things my way after I lied and said that the development was called Paulsylvania and I was on my way.
