Dr. Faustroll Writes the Wrongs

As Sledge Hammer used to almost say: Trust me. I don’t know what I’m doing.

I suspect no one else knows what they are doing either, but that’s none of my business because I don’t mean business. In fact, I may be the greatest anti-business business on this InterTube Bus we bozos choose to ride, and I have no clue to what your business is — but I’m sure that what I suspect I mean, which is not to say I mean whatever I suspect I might say because saying is strictly metaphoracological when you use it in a blog, which is a kind of funky fen when you really think about it, which you shouldn’t, and I don’t — where was I?

Oh yeah. I remember. Now that Hunger and Hope day is over and all the world is sated and laid back with big bellies and rolling doobers for dessert, I was planning to write about the differences between pig flu epidemics and pandemics, but it turns out that there really is no such word as epidemic, which is simply a misspelling of epidermis — which is in turn just another Kris Kristoffersonesque word for nothing left to lose after you’ve failed to give up any actionable intelligence during a Lon Cheney-sanctioned harsh interrogation session that removed your protective covering and left you whimpering like a terrorist baby abandoned at an al Franqen training camp.

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