I'm afraid people aren't taking me seriously. It could be my hair or the way I dress. My travel/art buddy says I'm a wimp, that I spend all my time on the internet when I should be out traveling and getting real stories. Sure. I know. I'll get there. I just have to get some things straight first. Besides, the internet is fascinating. I send a barrage of headlines and cuttings to friends every day. Like this one.The report said the strongest associations have been found with hyperactivity, aggression, defiance, emotional reactivity, delinquent behaviors and other signs of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, or ADHD, after exposure to phthalates.
And infants who have had greater exposures to a kind of endocrine disruptor called phthalates have smaller penises, Swan found.
I mean. . . people need to know these things. I could go on for pages here. . . but I won't.
To wit: I am going to start dressing like a scientist.
It has to be a clip on.
But wait. One more. I have to. Just one more.
Looks like they are trying to move in on my girl Gwyneth's market a bit, but the graphic from the story looks pretty racist to me. But hey. . . N.Y. Times.
O.K, O.K. . . maybe my buddy's right. Perhaps I have become too shallow. Perhaps I am only internet deep. Maybe "real life" would do me some good. I should get off the thorazine and put some miles on the car. I need to get my ass kicked by some redneck Oath Keepers to be more interesting. I have plans. I have some terrifying plans. I've Google mapped the road to Interesting. There will be nothing more titillating that reading about a septuagenarian adventure. Hard days of fighting, wild nights of lovemaking, and mile upon mile of hilarious entertainment. Just an endless river of hard-boiled adventure.
Fuck yea. I think I'll go pack right now. I'm heading out, a man with a vision and a dream, your steadfast correspondent. . . .
But first I have to finish my taxes, put down some weed killer, . . . .
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