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Who the Fuck is “we” James A. Michener?

“Unless you think you can do better than Tolstoy, we don’t need you”

James A. Michener.

Yes, that’s true, and also:

If you can’t be white milk, please don’t be milk at all.

No, wait.

If you can’t be mayonnaise, uh, be a saltine…Wait, if you can’t be sexually OK and also maybe wear a proper vest/socks arrangement and speak quietly with utmost appropriateness of shoe color and sensible automobile and please remove your shoes before I think OK maybe meet you at the lawn care symposium? Something.

The other Tuesday I was driving home and grooving to this song on the radio, have no idea who but whatever, and it’s juicing me, flowing my skin/nerves/belly, and I’m doing the arm fist-bump-to-fist bump dance from the ‘50s with one hand and doing the hand-caterpillar from the ‘80s with the other (guiding by baby-baby Subaru with my knees) and I’m just grooving life, caught in a moment, just living it zone free floating serotonin shivers…just flowing, just flowing, one of those thangs.

And it wasn’t Mozart or The Beatles, Mr. A. Michener. It was just a good pop song.



How would you children like me to take you for lunch at the Cracker Barrel? Huh?

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