Hills Like Pink Oxen

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Lying in my waterbed last night, the waves making a gentle gurgling sound, or so I think until I realize there is a man in the closet with a top hat and a bottle of Scope who isn’t a very good gargle-er, I think about running for president, what would happen if I ride my bike through our neighborhood without pants, and my dentist appointment.

The man turns out to be my father-in-law, who I’m trying to get rid of.

If I run for president there’s a slight chance I get elected, which is why I’m not running. You have to be insane to run for president. Plus I’m super busy with my current projects that pay in gold bullion and crypto currency. Super busy doing super cool multi-media projects. Film, the whole enchilada. Bruce Willis asks me to get a drink with him but once he finds out I just started a Keto diet he just walks away. Which is fine, because it turns out the former Key Grip for Steel Magnolias is starving himself too, so we hang out in the studio parking lot and eat 19 individual lettuce leaves.

That’s right. Studio. Parking. Lot.

If I ride my bike through my neighborhood without pants I literally think absolutely nothing happens. No throngs of screaming fans. No cops. No gunfire. Nothing. Which is depressing. It’s not because there aren’t people around (there’s no people around), it’s because people just don’t appreciate the art of semi-nude cycling anymore thanks to Instagram.

I look forward to my dentist appointment because he offers free cups of Nitrous, everyone who works there has a therapist’s soothing tone (likely from the Nitrous now that I think about it) and I find it relaxing, oddly enough. It’s super cool, I levitate about a foot above the chair and the hygienist tells stories about hunting pink oxen in the Serengeti and her favorite kind of pasta and I get a gum massage and stare at the drop-down ceiling tiles while Miami house music plays in the background.

Tonight, while I flop about the white-capped waves of my waterbed, I plan to think about a luncheon with Stephen Colbert (I love luncheons, way more than brunch or lunch), fishing for Coho salmon in the Snohomish River, and how much I enjoy Green Pistachio Cake.

Only 27 more days of Keto.

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Engaging irreverence, occasional coherence, often pointed, mixed with enough indelicate humor as to create a want, a craving for more.