He's Got the Whole World...in His Fist

America? These United States? This is my favorite place in the whole world, people. Only in America can I drink Dunkin' Donuts coffee in Boston, drive to NYC, refuse to shop for 4 hours because I'm too good for the shit-shop clothing lines masturbated out by million-dollar designers, then have another coffee with Lou Reed in the Village (even though I'm only sitting next to him), BOOM, jump a plane to Little Rock and remember why I have the right to choose not to live in a place dedicated to keeping the government buried deep into a women's insides (Bible Belt or Billy Clinton, you decide), fly on up to Chicago for a hot dog and a Cubs game at rickety, gorgeous Wrigley, bolt on over to Los Angeles for some cheap flesh-fest candy-coated enjoyment and the realization that my soul is in such better shape than most (and that Bill Hicks was RIGHT) then drive up to San Francisco and read for an hour at a club that has never heard of me before, catch a quick puddle-jumper late-evening flight to Seattle for some espresso so frigging strong it kicks me right back into gear and sends me due East my boy, due East, on a wild road trip via Volkswagen, Volvo, Pathfinder or pogo stick to my sweet coast of Boston, where I'm free to then do it all over again.

The country? The country is amazing.

It's the administration that needs a baleful, fiery eye of fury cast upon them.

Time to open them eyes up, my kittens.

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