One thing about here.  You can see for miles.   Civilization landed on the Appalachian hills like a bird dropping.  Like bird shit falling miles downward and spreading slowly across something people could only make worse.   It wouldn’t have become crusted in shanties and shopping malls in the first place if it hadn’t been useful for purposes of shipping supplies on the rivers that never asked for people’s help in naming and contaminating them.


I am a smiling happy fool.   Eggs and bologna are five bucks and six bucks, respectively, at Giant Eagle, and two sixty-five and a dollar forty-nine at Aldis.   It’s been a few years since I last gorged on eggs over easy and fried bologna.  It seems like caviar.   And as one sage rube once said to me, “It all comes out the same.”


I want to talk about the myth of origin.  It was one great sparrow.  It was no larger than normal for the harmless gentile birds, but this one was granted extraordinary range.   it was a long-distance runner, of sorts, and had a greater appetite than typical.    Being no larger than average, it could only survive by shitting.


It’s an assholium.   An assholoppolis.   I came here like a gold prospector searching for the origin of man’s inability to transcend.   Think of me as one hundred forty pounds of Viagra for twenty square miles of limp dicks.  I really want to help.  Tomorrow I’m diving into the water supply.