I find a website for the NSA and send them an email:
Dear National Security Agency,
what's it like 2 work there. i think i might be available soon, if U R interested. Let me know if there's a brochure U could send. Maybe I 2 could B 1 of U.
And then I'm nervous as hell that some NSA bag of shit will think me immature.
Another attempt to teach my printer to do envelopes. This is my, what, seventh printer? They never learn. I might as well be asking my coffee pot.
One effect of the new medication is a line of thought that goes, "Trouble always passes . . ."
"You don't ever have to do without electricity, for Lord's sake," says Hollis. "If they ever turn it off, you just follow the line, take the cover they put on there, and throw it away. You never touched it, never saw it, you don't know what it looks like. But what you also have to do is, you have to plug in the little two diodes or dinamodes or whatever they're called.
"And then," he says, "just disappear back into your house."
"Help me think like Bigfoot," I pray.
I'm staring at the page, at my pen, my moving hand. There's thunder and I say, "I am Bigfoot."