Tuesday, July 25, 2017


Although I work in Marin, I am of two minds about the place. One part of me revolts at the conceptual world of Marinites, another part looks at them like an entomologist scoping out a revolting new bug.
This is strangely fascinating. Do I smash it with my copy of Mosquitoes of California (by Richard Mitchell Bohart and R. K. Washino), or put it in a jar for cooking later?

Other than the Mexicans who blow the leaves, there are probably few sane people there.

Marin is a hotbed of poo.

Berkeley is worse, of course, and San Francisco is a little better. Not too many pretentious gits have the stamina to live here. We look at the rest of the Bay Area with distaste, and wish that they would go away.
Medication doesn't work.

In essence, I do not like people. That is to say, I do not like the poof-brained airheads that most people are, and on my days off I relish not having to deal with self-absorbed entitled pricks.

If I were a mosquito I should become a vegetarian, or move to some part of the country where there are fewer pot-smokers, hippies, food and vaccine phobes, new agers, or artistic types.

Unfortunately that might be Texas.
Which would be horrid.

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1 comment:

Jade Hussein Helm said...

"Unfortunately that might be Texas.
Which would be horrid."

Lamar Seeligson Smith, Louis Buller Gomert, and Robert Parlow Morrow.

And that's just the first three that came to mind.

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