RETARDED

I woke up this morning eager to share my dream with David. I dreamed I was flying private from L.A. to Las Vegas. I was awestruck by the experience. Leather seats! Rich people! No problems! As soon as the private jet landed in Las Vegas, Nevada I hauled ass to the library. I was taking pictures with my iPhone and sending the pictures of the interior of the Las Vegas library to various people. "Look where I am, bitches! I'm inside the LAS VEGAS LIBRARY! Rocks being ME! Sucks being YOU!" I had no memory of how I actually got to the library and this bothered me. Was it UBER? Was it a basic bitch taxi? I could not recall. 

David's response was not the response I was hoping for. I hoped he would say something like, "I love how your mind works, baby. You're unlike any woman I have ever known. What do you do when you arrive in Vegas in your dreams? Do you go to the casinos? Do you go to the pool? Do you go to Carrot Top's show at the Luxor? No, baby. You go to the library! God, I love you!"

What did the poet formerly known as David C. McLean actually say? He said, "America's dead."

America is not dead. As I write this people in the United States of America are swimming in pools, eating ice cream and pizza and Fritos and hot dogs and sushi and bacon cheeseburgers and kale salad, going to concerts, buying comic books and batteries and vibrators and curtains and rugs and candles and spatulas and Dolly Parton t-shirts, riding the subway, plunging toilets, taking phone calls from irate Verizon customers, killing cockroaches, walking poodles and shooting cops. People are still paying slot machines in Las Vegas, Laughlin, Reno and even Atlantic City to give them terrible news. "Nope. You're still broke, bitch."

The United States of America definitely still has a pulse and so do I. I'm eager to collaborate with David on our next two books, Retarded Beyond Redemption and Participation Prize. It was David's idea, I cannot take the credit for this one, to create a retard trilogy. The retard trilogy began with RETARD PENIS. How old are we? David is sixteen. I am twelve. We are genius retards. This is the noise I will listen to while writing the next two books with my big cock Aries man. Bye.