And by that standard, I have better existential angst than almost anybody. It defines me, and illuminates the dark corners of my soul. My angst dominates. And practically slaps everyone else's angst silly. Poor shrivelled little angsts.
TURKEY VULTURE GLOATING OVER TREASURE
And then a voice tells me "got to fatten you up for the turkey vulture". This was pursuant my thank you to my apartment mate for a tasty supper yesterday when she got home.
Tandoori murgh tikka, baingan bharta, and alu kulcha. Plus rice.
I had already eaten, of course, but to be polite I had a bite. It was delicious. The turkey vulture also had some, and was smacking his beak for nearly an hour afterward.
Dang that's one butch looking bird.
I think it's the captured loot.
Rare tobaccos. Mine.
Opportunist.
Quote from the turkey vulture: "I like Chinese ladies because they have them thick ass legs, lots of meat there."
I think he's been listening to the apartment mate too much. She's always had a goofy idea that her legs are too fat. As a dispassionate observer I've always thought that that's nuts, but years of subconscious conditioning by the American fashion industry, work-out and sports promoters, and the manufacturers of Barbie, have had an effect. All of those propaganda channels need to hushy, because they are not making the turkey vultures happy.
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