Ahh sweet silence...
My friends, I dream of a place: a simple place; a place without cable; without broadcast television; without the Interwebs; without computers; without cell phones; without radio; without newspapers; without access to people who have access to or know someone who has access to any of these modes of mass communication.
I dream of a place where I could go, a hovel nestled away deep in the woods of Siberia or isolated out in the middle of the Sahara Desert or on the side of a mountain in the Himalayas or in a giant glass bubble beneath the Pacific Ocean.
I dream of a place where I could go to sit on a simple wooden chair beneath a giant tin foil cone to block out all of the broadcast waves of incessant information and finally enjoy some respite, just a little respite, from being bombarded by COVERAGE OF MICHAEL JACKSON’S LIFE / DEATH / FUNERAL / ALBUM SALES.
NO MORE, I say! Stop it! Talk about something else!
What’s A-Rod up to?
I dream of a place where I could go, a hovel nestled away deep in the woods of Siberia or isolated out in the middle of the Sahara Desert or on the side of a mountain in the Himalayas or in a giant glass bubble beneath the Pacific Ocean.
I dream of a place where I could go to sit on a simple wooden chair beneath a giant tin foil cone to block out all of the broadcast waves of incessant information and finally enjoy some respite, just a little respite, from being bombarded by COVERAGE OF MICHAEL JACKSON’S LIFE / DEATH / FUNERAL / ALBUM SALES.
NO MORE, I say! Stop it! Talk about something else!
What’s A-Rod up to?
3 comments:
I think that place is called an iPod.
I assume you will be making mail bombs in this place?
Male bombs, not mail bombs.
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