Many of you may be wondering what is it like being the creator. In light of this often asked and much truncated question, i wish to start today a moderate history. Often mankind has wondered when the world started, when the universe was created, how old is old, how new is new, how many times was my diaper loaded, and what is the current state of their prostate. Well we have to start this at the begininning, however, the problem there is that so much has come in, something must go out. I am sure at this point that more has gone out than has come in. Thus, I will start with what is left, since that which has gone out cannot be recovered.
The first thing I remember is sitting in front of a black and white television set watching the JFK funeral. Why this is the first thing, I have not a clue. I have heard it said that those things that one remembers are the ones that caused the largest adrenalin upheaval in their body. That makes a little sense since most of the things I will probfuscate upon will be those involving massive head rushes.
I also want to clarify at this point that not all words included in this stream will be found in your Funk & Webster. So, those words, and many others will be based upon the TCOU Dictionary, Thesaurus, and Dethrombulator Second Edition.
Anyways, the events surrounding the JFK assasination and funeral are a little misty. It had something to do with some guy that was basically pissed off about the lack of liberal thought in the world at large. Apparently, so the theory goes, by ventilating the head of a certain president, the amount of such thought could be increased. There was also some subsequent chase, arrest, and another ventilated rib cage involved. Not sure how it was all connected, also not sure how it changed the world for the better or the worse for that matter. What I do remember was a deep seated bit of anxiety that things were gonna be way different now.
I also remember some guy who called himself my dad being passed out on the couch with a sickly smell of Gallo Port Wine on his breath. How this was connected to the funeral is a strange, sad, and stimulatingly stoic story of solvency and stationary objects.
