CARRION EATERS

The three significant women in this episode are all blondes. As a matter of principle, I tend to think wrongly about American blondes (not Dutch girls; blondes are a dime a dozen in the Netherlands), largely because of that spoiled brat blondes have more fun thing and deserve it cultural tendency which exists over here. It's rather reprehensible. Because of a sickening surfeit of typical American blondes I'm not interested nor paying attention. Though I have noticed that so far there have disappointingly been no cigarettes whatsoever in this tale.

I was keen to see what kind of lighter Perry Mason uses.
Perhaps a classic Ronson?

I arrived home short tempered, having ridden on Golden Gate Transit, where enforcement of the required mask rule is slapdash, apathetic, and devil may care. Sometimes staggeringly absent. I do not know what sewer of the Amazon the loud hispanic gentleman yacking on his cellphone came from, his accent in Spanish being that thick and coarse, but he should go back there. During the entire time I was on the bus his mask cupped his chin, but did not cover his mouth or his nose. Like with American blondes, I am now biased against his kind. In all fairness, if one sample impresses me unfavourably, you can well imagine what I think of Americans in general, and Caucasian Americans in particular.
Unfair, I know. Don't care.


My working days are spent in Marin. Where most people are entitled spoiled self-important pricks with insufferable attitudes. Fifty two weeks out of the year I deal with dickheads.
Very white dickheads.

I'm about ready to give up on humankind.
As an experiment, it's a failure.



Only one cigarette. At the end.
He used a wooden match.





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