Do you ever feel like the universe conspires to fuck with you? That no matter what, things get weird then they get worse? I get this feeling coming on sometimes and, as a much younger man, I would tend towards panic and struggle to rectify the invisible dealings of the cards being dealt. Now, I think the image of someone trying in vain to crawl their way out of a greased well is the best way to describe my emotional state at these times. The more you struggle, the uglier it gets.
Why doth the heathen rage?
Perhaps I need to ask Uncle Bill this question. I don't know why reds choose to hang out at the Cafe de Joe Muggs. They cannot believe they are among the literati. What do they do? Thumb through copies of Deliverance for that special scene of outdoor love? It's very apparent that Friday and Saturday are Date Night at Wal-Mart, so since BAM is just around the corner, it's like the local malt shop for the camo set.