I am locked outside my house. I am banging on the door but no one is within. Well, not no one. There are cats, but they are listening to music really loud, so they can't hear me knocking.
I live in what some might call a house that was built about a decade & a half before I was born. The house, unlike me, is not afraid of the eventually colonscopy - as it has put it, "Wasps have lived on me. Rats have burrowed around my foundation. What do I fear someone sticking something up my ass? Have you seen my sewage line? I feel sorry for the fucking doctor!"
My house stopped speaking to me a few minutes ago. It wanted to talk about John From Cincinatti which, though I am enjoying it, doesn't seem as important as getting into the house right now. I have to make a radio show, it needs me to shut the damn cats' music up!
It made me think of an apartment I once knew. It was a little gay - you know how apartments are - but whenever I locked myself out - er, I didn't mean to imply that I currently locked myself out - I mean, I'm not that careless - but anyway, the apartment I knew was kinder than my house. My house is like, "Ha ha, asshole, can't get in the house. The dogs have been tied up by the cats & they're shitting all over your records, ha ha ha."
Anyway, I got to get inside. I am writing this with my mind. Tomorrow I am planning to do my show with my mind as well. Unless, you know. I lock my brain in the house.
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