Asshole Continuity

In the second week of my introductory creative writing course there were three poems written about Brett Farve, a powerful deity among the peoples of Wisconsin. I lived there for two years, and a lot of my ancestry is based out of Wisconsin, "The State without a Motto State", and I don't feel any of the allegiances and need to worship these man-gods. It isn't an aversion to sports or hard line sports fanaticism (like the people in parades waving rifles into the air wearing green, yellow, and white scarves covering their face that march on Green Bay, Madison, and Milwaukee), because I could see me loving those things.

It may be related to the man from Wisconsin who talks very loudly behind my head about all this. He has a huge mouth, and I always wonder if that has any affect on his volume or with his total bullshit output (TBSO). He's like a muppet, where the mouth is more like a wedge-shaped cut into a watermelon, and there is some terrible man with his arm up him making him say things that you think an awful caricature of some sort of cryptozoological midwestern-caveman creature that exists only to sound off loudly about terrible things and to vote against their own interests. I haven't run into too many of these in my life, but I have just been living on reservations and in insulated controlled environments made or people who believed things they were told when growing up in the nineties.

Continuing with that, here I am outside of campus in Dinkytown drinking espresso blogospher'ing, having daydreams about throwing exploding footballs into helicopters and raiding the beer truck across the street. If I was awakened into a state where I could perform telekinesis, a dozen embarrassing and destructive things would happen all at once. Aside from breaking a heart and this flimsy chair.

Being powerfully awful is exhausting work. Don't get too caught up in it.