This was the question I asked myself while checking out Palestinian porn and also, I'm somewhat embarrassed to admit, Back at the Barnyard porn (trust me, you don't want to know what's 'back').
Earlier, I'd gotten into an argument with Tiwillger (that spittle spewing bastard!) about Obama's domestic policy. Would it turn out to be FUBAR? Only time will tell (the CGI Magic 8 Ball advises that I "ask again later" -- a clear sign of a turbulent future).
My thoughts were troubled.
Perhaps checking out today's lbo-talk threads would ease my mind. Sadly, lbo-talk turned out to be as much a cause as a cure for what ailed.
Maybe it was time to see what was happening at www.homelandsecurity.org, always good for a laugh. Or was it just homelandsecurity.org? The vodka made it hard to remember urls, birthdays, and shoe sizes.
I thought that creating a color coded to-do list -- a red blue green list of all the things I needed to accomplish -- would take my mind off things. It didn't. Or maybe, leafing through the pages of the SEIU Quarterly, "Shout and Pout" would entertain. Alas, it did not.
Suddenly, I remembered my old suicide girls hack, the one that got me free access to millions of pictures of 20-something women with mall piercings, marginally fierce expressions and dodgy clothes from Hot Topic. I tried to login. Access denied. Tarnation! The monkey would remain un-spanked. For now.
Suddenly, I received a text message. It read: "Tired of playing monopoly?" How strange, I thought. Though I hadn't played the game since the Lewinsky scandal, I was indeed, still tired of it. Good call, mystery SMS sender.
My phone rang. It was my mother. "I've found one of your 6th grade essays" she said. "It's titled, What Freedom Means to Me." Ah. I remembered that essay. It was written during my Dr. No period.
What Freedom Means to Me
by Dwayne Monroe English Class Miss Callahan - Teacher
To me, freedom means my freedom to seize control of an island -- preferably one shaped like a skull with a volcano in the center. On this island, there should be a giant laser which will do...something awesome.
Anyway, I want to rule the world with a titanium gloved hand.
The End
D. Monroe
...
My reverie was broken by another text message: "Donna Langston tired of playing monopoly." It was good to know I wasn't alone in my disdain for that accursed game.
Execution photos! Execution photos! Execution photos! I heard someone shouting this outside. I opened a window and looked around. It was Sparge, my neighbor. He was selling execution photos from his blog, 'Muerte! Muerte!' I made a mental note to keep an eye on Sparge.
The day was winding down. I was in the mood for a tall glass of Duvel, derided by Sparge as 'gaybeer'. Yes, Sparge bore close scrutiny.
I didn't know, but imagined it would be something as fiercely slick as the name.
.d.