IN PRAISE OF OUR VISITORS

Several hours later I am in a much better mood than I was when I posted previously today. Oh sure, I still think there's garbage for three thousand miles until you hit the Atlantic
But I am now considerably more accepting of that.
Y'all do you. It's what you're good at.

Your chance of getting shot by a morally bankrupt methfreak gun-nut are several magnitudes greater between the Oakland Hills and Staten Island than anywhere else.
Likewise your chances of hearing banjo music.

But anyhow. I am back to my cheery self.

I am all sweetness and light.

Counting whales.

There are tonnes of tourists in town. Most of them show evidence of a diet rich in burgers and extra large fries, very likely washed down with a milk shake or a bucket of cheese gloop. I believe the rest of the country may have a slight obesity problem. Dang, why are even the adolescents bigger than normal human adults? The only way you can tell them apart is by noting tattoos. Very many of the adults have tattoos.

Far be it from me to tattoo shame anyone.

I believe they serve a tribal function. They tell people who are in the know which trailer park or Ivy League College secret society the wearer belongs to, as well as getting them special deals at the body shop after they've brought their pick-up truck in for detailing.

The whales, bless their hearts.

Precious.



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