mysticism grows under a mohawk

It is done. Version 0.050. Now I can go outside and play. You too should go out and play. Don’t waste your time with this nonsense.

Thanks for staying.

The last few days have been exceedingly random. I will now honor them in their truest spirit:

I finished reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I highly recommend it. See the movie first and get Johnny Depp’s voice ground into your skull, then read. Read voraciously. Depp will narrate the vibrations in your head and it will be a very groovy experience.

We drove around the Lakes and I threatened people with an electric drill. Feeling the drill too much resembled a gun and I could get into a buttload of trouble I traded it in for an ice scraper. I would wave the ice scraper in a threatening manner, yell “ice scraper!” and scrape ice off the windows of the Rustang. This was a hilarious experience, all doped out on mono and 2000 mg of vitamin C and such. We then tormented downtown Hopkins, ridiculed teenagers with overgrown faded blue mohawks, caused a ruckus at Taits/Driskills, bought gas station sandwiches and saw Traffic. Good flick.

I watered my tent under the sprinkler hoping that it would grow more tents, but it still had leaks so all it grew was more damp.

Ever notice how real life is often stranger than fiction?

Went to Mystic Lake last night and lost a $1.25. Once. Bullied a Pontiac Aztec on the way home. Sucker.

I can’t remember what day it is.

In a closed society of criminals, the only real crime is getting caught.