something like that

What the fuck just happened? The vile savages have taken me across the land rover jungle to describe in virtues the many mornings after the saddle man lays down his flute. Nixon was a shyster bastard, yet Trump will get back into office no doubt. From the scheming scheme artists to the Winnebago's crowding the white house. Bastards. Can't they see it coming. I drink my whiskey and gin but I don't anymore. I don't need to for it will all come to pass in the next day or so. I am my father's son. The brethren of the monstrosity of great magnitudes of wandering hypocrites in the silent era of Charlie Chaplin and the Buster Keatons out their to make ends meet because all we have is now. How can one think about a time like this or something like that. When will I sleep again. There are twice as many nights that I have forgotten to tell her about. the ape-man stops typing in formal settings and it's just one long sentence that keeps going on and on for its encore but why stop there. Holy Jesus what kind of mess have I gotten into now. I wrote the book on the seven seers yet there is an eighth one. Hell, give me an eighth of jack Daniels and we'll talk in the morning. Fear not kind souls but I will be back shortly with verbs and nouns and predecessors who triumph and capote all the way to the bank accounts. Where is Philip K Dick when you need him huh? Or even Nathaniel West, a man I just learned of today. My soul is Camus but my eyes say Sartre and Dylan and Kierke. The signs are all around me and I'm getting a headache so I'll stop now and let you rhyme with the rest of them, into darkness, into the sled of rosebud, into the fyre. You're hired.