“He refuses to rhyme his verse. It’s a big ‘fuck-you’ to the rest of these yokels. Jack Laroue’s famous,” she insisted. “He was a Rhodes scholar out of Yale.”
“Since most people’s imaginations are confined to their own heads, and mine seems to have a radius of approximately 20 feet, I guess I can live with that.”
In two years, barring a nuclear flare-up of the kind said to have destroyed the humans in Planet of the Apes, all of us will leave the 20th century behind.
Nothing like coming across as a purple-haired, snot-nosed, bratty punk at the tender age of thirty. What do you like, ya big sourpuss? And that’s the thing…
“What’s going on, Fejod?” He asked the top of Fejod’s head. It was a dumb question, but it would’ve been dumber if he’s asked someone named Bill the question.
An editor from Salt Lake City magazine was on the line, wanting to send me to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, for five days, everything paid and nothing due in return.