There we can't really.

There we can be some fucking nice weekend bullshit.

Fuck out. There we go.

16 tons.

What do you get?

Another day older and deeper and dead.

St. Peter, don't you call me?

Because I can go. I owe my soul to the company's store.

Now, now, now, now, no, no, no, no, no.

Some people say a man is made on him butt.

Poor man's made out of muscle and blood.

Muscle and blood and bone and steel steel and the right one won't get

you then the left one will all right folks how you doing so I know that a lot of

people have said after my post-election stream when I laid out the case for the

the incurable deadlock between two purely culturally

effective political parties that cannot be resolved by any appeal to material conditions,

that that's black pill, and that that's doom scrolling or whatever that means.

And especially since I just kind of ended with, if something comes, it'll come from below

and I can't say what it is.

It's like, God damn, that's a fucking kick to the grunies.

And while I still can't say how it'll happen or who will be pre-horsipating in it because

that's going to have to occur in the moment, I do think now, having thought about it a little

...