Waylon, get that laptop out of Icker's paws now...NOW!

Triple crown horse racing is no better than greyhound racing, and only slightly more respectable than cockfighting. The codpiece is coming back. Britney was framed. Sometimes there is no one to blame but the institution itself. I just hope the next time I work my way out of an expensive Italian sports car in my kilt that a posse of photographers does not rush down upon little old ME. When I go, Lord, let my next of kin engage in a colossal battle of the ages over where exactly my dusty and entropic molecules will at last cease their witless spinning. Grim, televised and shameless combat would be the quantifiable measure of their love. For the record, my existence, my being, resides not in the crude material that contains me but entirely IN YOUR MIND, dear readers, dear partners in crime, for it is only by your rapt attention to this remote outpost in the "series of tubes," the internets, that I exist at all. Scatter my ashes on waterrock knob, in the plot balsams, halfway between Sylva and Waynesville, or in the memorial garden behind the United Church of Chapel Hill, or at Gray's Chapel in Polk County, or on GW Bushes head, I care not for I will still be here, pounding out the distilled tincture of what truly is and what you, YOU ALONE, really must understand, as the last thunderclap resolves itself back into the floor pedal behind Bonham's bass drum, as the last rays from the eyes of the misplaced hope of a worthless generation avert themselves in shame, as the last tattoo artist finally kicks his stylus back into the calcareous cliff-side in a gesture of futility, and a forty-year-old slacker slowly awakens to the cold, steely light brought forth by new horizons of incompetence, even as this nation's saving grace, with pupils the size of pennies, approaches the ancient granite counter top of the archetypal sandwich shop and asks for the sandwich that never was and never shall be...know my children that even then I will be with you and that I will have your hand in my hand and that as you dance you may dance with complete and utter abandon while I will watch your back, you fool you crazy fool.