Yesterday, I was working on some writing stuff in Borders and found myself sitting two tables away from a crazy old man. He wasn't the type of crazy old man that shouts about aliens. He was the type of crazy old man that sits in Borders all day writing ten page letters to the editor about aliens in between offering people copies of his free book on how the Masons are run by the gays.
While I was there, he explained the following stuff to anyone listening, in the same mild tone of voice you might use to explain which flavor of ice cream you like best. I promise that I am not making this up nor even exaggerating for comedic effect. These are straight from his mouth to your screen:
I think we could all learn something from this crazy old man's ideas. Except the Hispanics (they're a little slow, apparently).
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
Ignore the hype. Find out how these games will likely go right or wrong.
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