In Tolerant Town #8 by Darren Olsen / 2003 I was just musing after the godzillionth time of having to refomat my hard drive: So why do people who play golf have a giant bag of clubs when one good one would do nicely? And why don't they drive around after dark spreading fear into the hearts of their fellow suburbanites with their hopped up golf carts? You know, guys in plaid pants and polo shirts armed with clubs and electric carts could be like 21st century Vikings. Smashing golf balls through windows and doing lawn jobs with their carts. I hope you have fun in Alabama while I construct my anti-gravity device. It will bring in a whole new era of funiture arrangement with recliners mounted on the cieling. No more worries of inadequate space I always say. It will be just like the time I lived in Skylab, or as my friends knew it better (and so did I), my single-wide in a now run down trailer park. Well, after having told all the clowns, strippers, various members of congress, and the elephant in the driveway that they have to sleep the rest of it off somewhere else, it seems kinda lonely around the place. So I thought I'd join yet another group. I think my laundy's on fire. Here I go wrapping my head in aluminum foil and making a fool of myself again. Time to drive my bowling ball around on my bicycle.