i was huntin for the serious fiction. why does everything have to be a joke with you, you daytime housing for deranged and derelict standing poopers you?
(seriously, i stood near a human of disinterest just the other day at the main branch frisco library that had quite possibly unbeknownst(sp) to himself personally brown dyed the seat of his britches in a spectacularly precise rendition of dead fiddler covered in shit on a hot tin roof, seriously.)
