He is so enamored with radiation maps, but don’t let a Mormon hear you call them that – they’re really christmas cards, and who wouldn’t be enamored with Day-Glo cancer cells wearing little coats of glitter and malignant conical tie-dyed moles for hats? They open like normal christmas cards and contain the same vapidities and catchwords.
But this one is especially useful because it shows the skeletal structures of things wonderful without necessarily debunking them – Miramax, for example, is one of those companies that has an exoskeleton, which is radioactive, so it shows on his clever trusty map less as a five-star restaurant menu than a map of its underground tunnels. Where he plans to hide and bide his time until most of the heat has passed over, or until the company shuts down.
Above all he many times risked getting cockblocked by a Mormon christmas card (it was the one he always wanted, fancy that – the meanest impulse would stop dead in its tracks if the card were thrust into its flight path – the risk is always there so he should drop all unnecessary burdens, whatever might hold him back. He is a beast of burden with poor dress sense). He definitely won’t wear a girdle this time to the beach, where he expects her naked body to wash up.
No comments:
Post a Comment