suicide is painless

Yesterday, I passed a gigantic Chevy pickup with almost-as-gigantic twin 'Murican flags flapping in its bed, right behind the NRA sticker. The driver, Cooter P. McNugget, cheerfully gave me the finger when we made eye contact. This edgy badass was adorned with an unkempt foot-long beard, undeniably diseased cowboy hat, and gas station knockoff aviators. As he drove toward the house I'd just left, I wondered if I'd remembered to set the alarm. Nevertheless, of the people I encountered yesterday, he was easily my favorite.

I was twice visited by my least favorite species, the Desperately Lonely Contractor.

As the painting estimator entered Hour 2 of his life story, I had long since stopped contributing words to the conversation, lest I again say something that would inspire a tangent. "Uh huh," I'd grunt.

"Yep. Say, do you know the etytomology of the expression uh huh? It's as uninteresting as the following anecdote is pointless and rambling."

My thoughts turned to those coyotes that chew their own legs off to free themselves from a trap. Lucky coyotes.