SPLEEN
Where is Reihan? Where has he gone? Has he been swallowed whole by the forces of evil?
Fortunately enough, that hasn't happened as yet, or rather it either hasn't happened or I've been so thoroughly duped by various agents of various axes of evil that I can't tell the bloody difference, which, sad to say, isn't an entirely unlikely set of circumstances in these troubled times.
There is a song by Fountains of Wayne called "Troubled Times." I do not have the lyrics on hand, but I do recall that the lyrics are exceptionally sad and pathetic. This is not to say that I do not enjoy the same. Indeed, I like the song rather a lot. But why? Because the lyrics are sort of sad and pathetic, and indeed are redolent of the festering open sores that line the outer walls, the inner walls, of my heart. My metaphorical heart, that is, which embraces all of you, every last one of you. Why is that? The mere fact of your presence here suggests to me -- call me batty, call me "loose" -- that you have exceptionally good judgment, taste, vibrations, etc. And thank goodness for that: there are, at this point in time, very few of us, mainly because the bloody Bolsheviks have taken over the universities.
No, I don't believe that the Bolsheviks have in fact taken over the universities; had the Bolsheviks taken over the universities, I suspect they'd make everyone wear pea-green military uniforms. Also, the Bolsheviks were far from sexy and hardly ever bared their generally quite pasty flesh. This is neither here nor there.
More to come.
Where is Reihan? Where has he gone? Has he been swallowed whole by the forces of evil?
Fortunately enough, that hasn't happened as yet, or rather it either hasn't happened or I've been so thoroughly duped by various agents of various axes of evil that I can't tell the bloody difference, which, sad to say, isn't an entirely unlikely set of circumstances in these troubled times.
There is a song by Fountains of Wayne called "Troubled Times." I do not have the lyrics on hand, but I do recall that the lyrics are exceptionally sad and pathetic. This is not to say that I do not enjoy the same. Indeed, I like the song rather a lot. But why? Because the lyrics are sort of sad and pathetic, and indeed are redolent of the festering open sores that line the outer walls, the inner walls, of my heart. My metaphorical heart, that is, which embraces all of you, every last one of you. Why is that? The mere fact of your presence here suggests to me -- call me batty, call me "loose" -- that you have exceptionally good judgment, taste, vibrations, etc. And thank goodness for that: there are, at this point in time, very few of us, mainly because the bloody Bolsheviks have taken over the universities.
No, I don't believe that the Bolsheviks have in fact taken over the universities; had the Bolsheviks taken over the universities, I suspect they'd make everyone wear pea-green military uniforms. Also, the Bolsheviks were far from sexy and hardly ever bared their generally quite pasty flesh. This is neither here nor there.
More to come.
