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Parades
2004-03-21 - 11:48 p.m.


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I dont know what to make of parades.

Especially in a small town.  Its the same assholes you see every day, just dressed up differently and marching to music in front of you.

And its supposed to be some sort of event.  What the fuck is that?  I saw you yesterday.  I feel no compulsion to cheer at you.  We have no reason to wave at each other.  I dont care if you are in the middle of the street riding on some sort of trailer that is decorated with papier' mache' and tissue paper.  Maybe if you cheered and waved at me yesterday, I would cheer and wave at you today.  But that didnt happen, now did it.

You dont even know who St. Patrick was, do you? 

So why the fuck should I wave at you?

I echewed the parade today, even though the governor was going to be there.  Gov. Hottie, as I like to call her.

Earlier in the week I had this bizzare thought about streaking for the governor and the entire town.  There was something alluring to the prospect of not only getting naked for the governor, a middle-aged powerful, yet attractive woman, in addition to the prospects of burning every last bit of respect and credibility I have with the people in my hometown.  I dreamed of being in the news cycle, dancing across the screen, pixelated, with all kinds of anti-war slogans painted on my naked body, dancing away from the clutching hands of the police, the avenue gone so silent, as though one could hear a pin drop, out of the crowd a fat woman gasps as I dance by the governor and streak down street.  In the distance, horns play sweet irish tunes to the unaware.  In a nearby yard, a dog barks.

But its like 32 degrees here.  No way am I whipping out that kind of shrinkage in front of the community. 

Let alone the governor.

Beside, Im too fuckin' lazy for that shit anymore.


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