I once spent about four months living under a bridge in western New York. During my time there I had hoped that I could extract some tolls from passers by, but no one ever stopped. I don’t blame them tho. There was a fog that was nearly impenetrable, and really who would stop for a guy in a troll suit with a sign that read: “Everything is Foreseeable.”
I was born without a vagina.
I once had an intensive letter writing exchange with Nietzsche. I was the void into which he spat. It got ugly quickly and I no longer answer his letters. I just let them pile up. At some point in the future, when I have enough letters, I will construct an idol.
I collect vintage hats. I do not wear the vintage hats. I keep them in boxes. I keep the boxes in other boxes in the basement behind some old shoes. I have thousands of them.
I woke up and went outside to find that my backyard had been replaced with a junkyard, but not any old junkyard. This junkyard was populated with the cars of famous (and some not so famous) former mobsters. There was a note tacked to my door that apologized for the inconvenience, and implored me to do the right thing and try and reform the cars.
When I was thirteen some gypsies came to our town and taught everyone a new dance. Now every year on a certain date a new record arrives at the local post-office and everyone packs into the town square to burn the record. The fire brings out the sweetest music.