(no subject)
One time in L.A. we ate some acid and went down to the cliffs to hit golf balls into the ocean. Those fuckin’ manatees never even saw it coming. But then, there’s probably some terribly important reason why they should be saved, and eventually we ran out of nickels anyway, so I don’t feel too bad. We wandered around the warf for a while (though I know this Swedish bastard who would call it a ‘fjord’ without so much as a second thought, and I think maybe nationalism and jingoism aren’t really so terribly bad so long as your country remembers that it’s Tuesday night at one AM on my goddamn stereo anyway), and somewhere along the way I lost my sandal, but the joke’s on it because at least 10,000 of my Identical Twins aren’t for sale at the mall. The mall is a horribly, soulless place, and if I taste raspberry water with only 2% sodium content one more time I swear to god I’ll make those manatees happy they only have to worry about errant golf-balls and the occasional schooner. Everybody wants to save the rainforest, but no one wants to make beef stroganoff at 2 AM because he can’t sleep and can’t get it up and can’t figure out just how the hell televangelism works anyhow, so fuck you and your Aztec trees and your sea cows and your neologisms, because if you don’t want loss of species diversity maybe you should just stop making the golf balls already and try listening for once.