Peg Life Vol. 12

It's late. It's after karaoke. I should go to sleep. But I made a commitment. To myself and, by extension, to all of you. I made a commitment to get something written today and Peg Life is going to be it. I also made a commitment to cleaning my room and rearranging our furniture today but instead I read William Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell and took a nap. Ah, well. Some things you get done and some things you don't. And since I'm doing this I'm breaking some records. Admittedly, they're records that only pertain to me, but if there was ever an excuse to use writing for ego-inflation, think of it and pretend I'm doing that. You should probably be aware of what I'm talking about as I mentioned it fairly explicitly in the last issue. A volume twelve is the farthest I've gone in transcribing a loosely connected series of brainwave patterns via the Information Superhighway as it unfortunately never maintained being called. So throw up your hands. And when your done vomitting, lift your bloody stumps into the air. There's very little meat in the hand. It's no wonder you had to eat both. But that's the way it goes in the wild, wild west. Well I'm a badass cowboy livin' in the cowboy days, eatin' my own hands cause I went mad from syphilis. I don't think Will Smith is in enough movies where he has to eat his own hands. I really believe they made a mistake in taking that scene out of Ali. And speaking of Muhammad Ali and syphilis, Friedrich Nietzsche died of syphilis. I guess Muhammad Ali doesn't really have anything to do with that. Except that at the University of Basel in 1869 Nietzsche's students would chant "Nietzsche, boombayay!" and he would shadowbox for them. I'm sorry if you were expecting more, but I simply can't come up with anything to top the image of Friedrich Nietzsche shadowboxing in front of a bunch of 19th century German academics so that's all I'm going write.

Tony Hawkins still hasn't thought of anything