RACE THE RATS

It feels lovely to have off after several days of being in loco parentis at work due to the boss and his kin having headed to a trade show in a part of the country where there are too many drunk people. I presume they maintained their standards and kept their sanity while there. Surrounded by sinfulness and temptation.

Please imagine hordes of overweight Midwesterners falling off third floor balconies while taking selfies and yelling "look mah no hands". As I fondly believe that Americans do whenever they're away from home.

You've probably noticed that I have a low opinion and strange ideas about people in the rest of the country. They're all pudgy and rather uneducated, they snarf cheese pizza and grits all day, and they listen to accordion music. Which, until you get to New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, is largely true. The only jobs where heavy lifting and regular exercise are required seem to be manufacturing meth in trailer parks. All those bins and giant tubs of chemicals. After which they drink a couple of sixpacks and watch the ballgame.

No, I have no interest in visiting the United States. I live in San Francisco, where precisely like Greenland we're connected more to Europe than the rest of anywhere else.

Here I am sitting in my rattan chair looking very much like William Faulkner.


Who would have had a low opinion of the yokels currently destroying our institutions. Sadly, because so many of our fellow citizens don't read and are damned near illiterate, almost no one has even heard of him.

The slope brows start on the other side of the Oakland Hills.
And we wish they'd head east instead of coming here.
Run towards the processed cheese, boys.
It's yummy and tempting.



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