Ghostwriter

Right. I fucking hate Richard Perle. Probably more than I should. I mean, to be fair, he is just sort of dumb, not malicious. En sha la. And by dumb I mean I think it is clear that Richard Perle is a total douche of ape like proportions and suitable only to bounce from one job to another portraying confidence and leadership only to be fired when he has to answer for recommendations he made. Putz.
It's July 5th. It won't be long now. Fuck.
If I ever start a band, I'm going to call it, "Dead Pervert Kangaroos." We will play the most awesome music known to man, with backwards messages for the masses. I will need a triangle player. And a guy to dance around while he beats on an empty Yoo-Hoo bottle with a drum stick. I have the drum stick. You just need to bring the funky dance moves and Yoo-Hoo bottle and if it's full, all the better because I'll drink the hell out of it. I also need one person to work the lighting.
Despite how much I run and work out and don't eat, I continue to get fatter. I am a marvel to modern science.
You're friggin Gone With the Wind.
When I think of you I think of:
Waking up and it raining outside and I don't have to go to work.
Eating oatmeal with extra sugar.
Running through the woods on dry trails.
Opening a new can of Copenhagen.
Reading a book for 7 hours a day.
Putting on brand new socks when you get out of the shower.
Listening to Boards of Canada while half drunk.
Eating clam chowder outside in the cold.
Watching dolphins jump in the wake of your boat.
Turning on the TV and a movie being played that you always liked but never bought.
Drinking cold beers in freezing weather outside with thousands of other people.
Watching UFO documentaries on TV followed by a My So Called Life Marathon, that was like the best day of TV ever for me.
That's all.
So therefore, you are no consolation.
You are comprised of the greatest things on earth.