Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge On Seattle

Music – Pink Floyd – Pigs on the Wing

I locked up the Academy around three a.m., chasing out the two crackheads who’d snuck in to the vestibule through a carelessly unlocked gate.  They hissed and growled, gesturing threateningly and jabbering at me in Crackhead.  Like pigeons or seagulls, the North American Crackhead is a disgusting if harmless species.  Like their avian cousins, they’re liable to take up residence in any available and undefended space, but they are easily frightened by loud noises and threats of police action.

After asking the junkies to please vacate my fucking vestibule immediately, I headed over to the Burmese place on 19th to get some late dinner. What they gave me bore no resemblance whatsoever to the noodle dish I ordered, but I ate it anyway.  I never complain about the food there, even when it looks like eggs benedict smothered in black ink and braised with a flamethrower.

Times like these, you take what you can get.

Between the impending election, the financial apocalypse, and the destruction of the southern U.S. by freak storms, it’s hard to tell where your next meal will come from.

We’re riding high on a wave after a decade of greed, fuckery and evil, and it’s our misfortune to be alive and resident while the wave crests and everything goes to shit.


The Consequences, once distant and near-mythical, are upon us.  They’re running wild on our asses, stomping and rampaging through the land like Godzilla on PCP, kicking down skyscrapers and squashing the innocent under foot.

The collapse of our financial institutions, behemoth conglomerates so gargantuan and mindfuckingly rich that their demise is almost incomprehensible, has left our economy a smoking ruin.  We’re talking about banks whose holdings dwarf those of most nations, institutions so huge that many thought them immovable simply because of their sheer inertia.  The fragile house of cards, manufactured so hastily by the greedy and myopic, has come crashing down.  What a fucking shock.

Hey guys, I know, let’s repeal a bunch of laws put in place after the FIRST Great Depression to protect our economy, then let’s ignore all our anti-trust legislation and let a couple companies create an oligopoly thereby insuring our nation’s complete fiscal destruction when the bubble bursts!

Good plan!


Let’s go race our yachts and cheat on our wives!


And the election… well that whole situation’s just completely fucked.  Obama, spineless sellout that he is, picks Joe god damn Biden as VP.  Ancient, inept, routinely embarrassing… He’s the Democratic McCain, an old-guard windbag piece of filth that should have been put out to pasture before I was even born.  What the fuck does he bring to the table?

Say what you want about Sarah Palin, who is of course completely awful in every conceivable way and is so unfit for public office it makes me want to puke, but she’s gonna bring in the essential Retard vote.  McCain and Palin… what a nightmare… Two of the most slackjawed, selfish, morally bankrupt shitheels to ever walk on two legs.  They’re utterly repulsive and vile and would destroy our nation with a speed and fervor that even GWB would envy, and it doesn’t fucking matter because they’re still going to get elected.  Because evil and incompetent is what appeals to the vast majority of our fucked up country.

The whole crapstorm can be boiled down to two facts for me, personally:

Fact #1: I dislike Obama in the extreme, and fucking despise Joe Biden. And they’ve got my vote.

Fact #2: I’ve got three hundred bucks on McCain / Palin with a bookie that works at the back table in Zeitgeist on Friday and Saturday nights.  His name’s Jeck and he’s got a pederast’s moustache and a red top hat if you want in on the action.

McCain and Palin ruling America in the name of Lord Jesus the Christ and ExxonMobil, carried to their matching plywood thrones on the backs of a hundred million braindead redneck zombies who hate everything good and beautiful in life and love Nascar and crappy beer.

Thus does our once-noble nation die an ugly bed-shitting death.



Different people handle disaster in different ways.

I drink whiskey and rave like a lunatic, alternately cursing everything and acting nonplussed.

Ellie, in contrast, has locked herself in my room, determined to create a perfect world in Spore based on Anne of Green Gables.  I carry plates of food in to her every couple of days, timidly picking my way through her piles of charts and blueprints and stacks of empty teacups.

“I’m not sure what…”


I could not have picked a worse time to read The God Delusion, a book guaranteed to kick any sane person’s depression into overdrive.  It’s a simple and well-formed description of how mind-bogglingly stupid most humans are.

Perfect for light afternoon reading, here in the End Times.


Galveston has gone the way of Atlantis, the bankrupt US Treasury is now in charge of bailing out the bankrupt US banks, I have to go down and change all my savings into gold specie before the dollar collapses, and to top it all off Al Davis still hasn’t fired Lane Kiffin.




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