Nancy Reagan is gently kneading BetaCarotene saturated pumpkin pie filling into my wrinkled museum of pain. A Japanese unicyclist is calculating blink-per-minute ratios extracted from old video footage of Ronald Reagan, ripe for the bulk eraser. The unicyclist resembles my mother to such a degree as inspires me to warn her that post-feminist dissertations on analytic geometry won’t find their way onto the pages of the Christian Science Monitor this year.
Last year I received an eight page love letter from Maddona. This year I’m finally writing her back.
Dear Maddonna,
If you really did care about me, you would help me erect a monument to myself so that sturdy cockroaches can worship my likeness after the holocaust.
Love,
Snak Dugbeets, Garbage Man and Visionary Extrordinare