My Feet, at this moment, Are Tingling

These are words going together, letters going to gether and measure the great frankness of nodding.

"Iunderstoodupuntilthepartaboutleather.:"

Well, says the narrator, that's good. That's good that something not written makes sense, as we fall into this typical post-modern construct, delineated by proper punctuation. The narrator talks about himself in the third person, but talks about others as if he's dead and they've forgotten him, which makes him a third first person third person omniscient limited narrator. Right? I think that's right. Or should I say, "He thinks that's right."

In other news, the baby I'm having is a squirrel; sandwiches in Winters are hard to come by; and Martin Luther King has a pretty direct connection to Johnny Depp.