What possessed me to ride the Greyhound while on a cleanse? I just got back from the obligatory Burger King stop halfway from LA to San Francisco. The slaughterhouse, french fry, and fart smells are strong enough to disorient. Weird childhood memories have been hitting me out of nowhere, like: being in ballet class with Bud Bundy's real-life brother at age six. How I only got spanked twice growing up and deserved it (once for pretending I was drowning in the bathtub and the other for cutting up lines of Ajax under the kitchen sink, mimicking what I had seen either in some "HARD COPY" black and white dramatization or the real-life behavior of my dad). I also can't believe I got accused of Satanism in sixth grade, just because I conducted seances at slumber parties and they found an occult book in my desk--they found a fucking HAMBURGER in some other kid's desk, and he didn't even get in trouble.
I feel totally high. This bitch could crash and I wouldn't even feel it.

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