H+101 hours - I had forgotten just how bad "Spaceballs" was until we watched it on the bus. There are plenty of classic lines, but good God it's an awful movie. And now I have to try and drown out whatever's just been put on with some high noise - elder Beck with The New Pollution does well. The temperature drops as we wind northwards, and people begin to complain. We eat at a corral-style feeding trough, hit the head en masse, board our chartered conveyance and become one with the highways again. The seat by the head on the bus is starting to stink, dammit. In theory we have another nine hours of traveling before we get home, and are privileged to walk into our Batallion Muster with all our beads on. Then comes a full monday of crap, followed by another week and another month and the rest of the semester and the rest of this awful cursed year of 2004.

Will it be cursed? That's a tough nut to question. There is a good chance that near the end of this year, we will have a new President in some form, and in a way everything leading up to that event is just a sort of time murder. The forces of good and evil are gathering for the final showdown in our nation's capital, and when the Time of Reckoning comes one of our parties will be pistol-whipped into submission by the new Kings, who will interpret their .5% margin of victory as a New Mandate, to continue the rape of the American Dream by some new technically legal means. This doesn't have a whole hell of a lot to do with our trip to New Orleans, but it's on the mind. There's a newly minted couple in the seats in front of me, and for some reason their necking doesn't bug me. I'm owed one bottle of Corona from Mr. Green Jeans, and I can't remember buying the six pack that it came from. I think I also bought someone a syringe from a bar - Jesus knows just what was in it. GOD HATES ALL SINNERS. Remember this when the time comes for you to choose, bubba, keep that in mind when you are deciding what kind of score you want the Great Ref to put on the books next to your name. Only YOU have the power to save your soul from the eternal torments of Hell.

Shit on that gibberish. But there doesn't appear to be any more to say, so I'll let the battery on Pallas run itself out playing some soothing tunes.

No comments: