A letter from Captain Crunch

I'm still trying to jump through a particularly irritating financial aid hoop, but I am leaving July 4th. My ticket to come back is written down as August 3rd, but the real return date remains unclear. Everything, as usual, will be up in the air until the absolute breaking point. I swim in a maddening ocean of forms and technicalities and stress related deadline breakdowns.

I'll know more once I'm already over there. Yes. Duct tape my dreams together and squirm through the cracks to find my place among the unwanted. Indeed. Organization and planning are for the weak. Drink deep the weird juice of an uncertain future. Why not? The untrodden path is for the billy-goats of humanity. If I’m forced to gnaw my way through the cement wall of stability just to get my chance to write grammatically depraved, self-indulgent tripe, then so be it. Fate doesn’t pull punches. It’s all or nothing. Dance the dance of the doomed and sing the song of the strange. There’s nothing on cable anyway.

To mindlessly plot through a series of bizarre and seemingly unconnected events that transpire to dump me into a financial hole is my calling in life. Should I deny this calling? Apply at Burger King. I could be manager in just under a decade if I play my cards right.
But what if I want to eat my cards and slap the other players? The game is fixed and the house always wins. They want to me play their game and lose by their rules. Fifty hours a week and two week-long vacations a year? Is this the American Dream? Never know why, just plod along like a heartless robot. How much vacation did the Nazi's get? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Some answers are just too hard to swallow.

Fuck um. Dump a whole gallon of 92-octane gasoline into the anthill and send the whole pointless fucking shitpile up in delicious, purifying flames. They had their chance for the conversation of change, now it's time for the slap of shame. It's simple. Make P/R meaningless, get the info to the masses, mock the suits and their paid counter-lies. OUR LIES SHALL OVERCOME. The peasants are at the walls, climb the castle and pull down their pants to denounce their small penises. Each and everyone. It's time for the Neo-Nuremberg trials.

Tom (Crunchy)