even christmas comes to an end

I know nobody's heard from me in a while, and I apologize to anyone who was disturbed by the last story. I should warn everyone before I put out smut like that. Haven't had too many stories in me lately, and don't think too many will be coming up.

These are dark days, and they're only going to get darker. Hunter S. Thompson wrote this week about the American Dream run Amok. And he's right. I used to joke about being born in the wrong time. Lately, that has seemed more true than funny, however. Has anybody stopped to see where we are heading? Ninety miles an hour down a dead-end street, as the song says.

Yesterday I watched a man stand in front of a car that was trying to turn a corner. He berated the two elderly women in the car for a few moments before trying to bash in the driver's side window. What did we do? We stood around and talked about “road rage.”

We're better friends with people we've never seen. Our intimate moments come to us via web-cam. I'm writing this damned e-mail rather than calling any of you.

NASCAR just sacrificed its greatest driver rather than have the people at FOX fear they paid $25million for a boring product. I hear once the weather gets warmer, the XFL is going to have naked strippers.

We live in an age of Rage and Jackass and Temptation Island. A faithful relationship is considered so rare, that anyone who has one is deemed worthy of a cash reward and having their wedding televised with David Hasselhoff as
the Best Man.

The other day at work, I had a guest complain to me about the inconvenience of having to purchase a stamp to have a bill mailed. “There must be an easier way,” she said.

And someone out there had the nerve to hide a virus behind the guise of a sexy picture of Anna Kournikova.

So I'll be laying low for a while, picking up the pieces and trying to remember how to love. I'm sure there's still a place out there for me, I just have to find it all over again.

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