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March 17, 2013
We don't want to piss in the carrot cake, not now, not with all the relatives coming over to congratulate the tender new initiate on their way to bombing themselves with unexpected ardors and golden chains to dress the inner wounds festering like rotting bullheads on a dock under a Midwestern summer sun. No, we have to understand, these things are vital to our survival when the mad monks of innovative thought come round to spit on traditions upheld in musty garrets where artists are properly relegated by the ruling class to contemplate their vicious misdeeds and totally soiled underwear.