a woman in a subdivision about 3/4 of a mile from my house called in saying that bullets were landing in her pool. Said bullets were coming from a cloud of obscure metaphysical notions unconnected with the tactile world in which we all live. She wouldn’t even open the door to the postman who brought a telegram to say that the bank was taking her house and she had a DUI and didnt know where to take her kids. “I’ve been there.” All right then, tell us. What do you know? “No need to get crabby. Just saying I’ve been there is all.” Well, why dont you tell me why my adult children still all opt to be taken to brothels where they live in windowless rooms that are filthy, dark, and cramped. “If you let me in, I’ll live the way you want me to live, and I’ll think the way you do and uh, ill come up with something that will make this task quick and easy. Use your pencil to mark the locations on your forehead where the horns would be. then tape the entire instrument with white duct tape – it will look like one of those fancy white dreams you dream when you so carelessly drop my name in reference to the night before. Then open the door and check the thermometer immediately. If it is cold that means you were already dead when you entered the time machine, since you experienced death at a previous time point.”

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