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).
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
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