In article <
[email protected]>,
"Richard Longwood" <
[email protected]> wrote:
> The height of Lance's socks are actually a sign to Cheryl Crow to remind her of every time that
> Lance fell asleep driving a packed school bus through dense fog at night on a narrow, 1-lane,
> winding, mountain road, waking up just in time to avoid hitting something or driving off a cliff
> while realizing that he's been living only the flimsiest set of simulations -- designed to make
> him believe he's eternally glide through life unscathed, without consequence, no matter what he
> does or doesn't do, or how badly he's
> he lets go, and since everybody seems to suffer so tragically in these transactions, on both the
> meta-spiritual and meta-psychological levels, the only genre of therapy that seems at all
> appropriate for him is the oldest one in the book, you know, the one where he just calls everybody
> a bunch of idiots for even bothering to exist at all, then he grabs another bag of black knee high
> Nike cycling socks and runs.
Many words, few sentences.
--
tanx, Howard
"We're not laughing -at- you, we're laughing -with- you..) "But... I'm not
laughing???" Happiness
remove YOUR SHOES to reply, ok?
