There were no posts yesterday for any number of reasons, but mostly because I knew there was no competing with the hilarity infesting the web in the guise of April Fool’s wackiness. The best kind of jokes are those formulated by social media vice presidents and honed in meetings and memos to properly mirror a multi-national corporation’s brand identity. For example, Google ‘shopped David Hasselhoff into image searches. I know, right!?
That kind of thing is much better than the kind of funny I prefer, which exists at the intersection of wrong and incorrect; it is exemplified by that time Billy accused Thomas the Tank Engine of transporting Jews to Auschwitz during the war.
But I mostly stayed away from sharing any thoughts (on the Dead or otherwise) with you because yesterday was spent wandering around in a confused daze, halfway between coherence and violence, alternating naptime with dull tantrums directed at nothing in particular.
So: Tuesday, then?
Shut up, you. I quit smoking again 32 hours ago and the sudden nicotine vacuum is playing havoc, physically and mentally. Sweating out of one’s nipples is a bad sign, right? Plus I don’t know what to do with my hands, and combining that with free-floating rage is dangerous: ugly children will get slapped, so I withdrew from the world like a werewolf deliberately getting himself locked up.
The fog seems to be lifting and I’m too dehydrated to sweat through any more mattresses, so more of the crazy make-em-ups you know and love are forthcoming.
Is that true about Thomas the Tank Engine?
You mean Tomasz der JudenMotor?
We’re done here.