Where were we again? Oh, right — I sold my car, they raised my rent, ain’t got no job, oh woe is Mudge!
Hey, if you’re going to publicize your troubles online like you’re writing a bad country and western song, you gotta own it, right?
Speaking of country and western songs, I must once again paraphrase the late Jean-Baptiste Alphonse Karr (who, in turn, was famously paraphrased by the late Neil Peart): plus ça change plus c’est la même chose.
That single-wide trailer up there is my new home. Jesse’s, too. My dad bought it for me and it’s situated in the mountains about 10 miles outside of Albuquerque. That white shit on the ground is snow because Cedar Crest, NM is 6,500 feet above sea level. The trailer park looks like a campground and my place is all the way at the end with a rock wall encircling the back yard that overlooks the Sandia and Manzano Mountains.
And I’ve just enough to spare to buy myself a shitty used car so’s I can journey into Albuquerque when I need to forage for groceries and, um…*cough*…supplies.
For the time being, I won’t be inviting Bubbles to move into a shed in the yard with his cats nor will I let Ricky sleep in his car in the driveway. Leahy and Randy are watching.
So I’ve nearly achieved my dream of becoming a mountain hermit. And this is but a scant mile away from my new mountain hermitage:
Fucking Burger Boy.
Entropy, Cohesion, Repeat ad infinitum,