At 9:02 this morning, two weeks’ ceaseless bombardment of reportage, both newsular and blogular, on the interwoven subjects of chaos and human suffering and government incompetence and future doom completely overloaded the Twisty obstreperal lobe. It went critical when I read Richard Roeper’s compendium of moron Katrina quotations, and finally blew two minutes later, all over my breakfast of leftover corned beef-on-stale-rye, when perusing assorted disastrously-belated emperor-has-no-clothes realizations coupled with reminders that there’s three-and-a-half more years of this shit.
I do not mourn my brain. It was too large for my neck to support anyway. But the sandwich. I will miss it.
I blame the patriarchy.