Neon Brown: from the diary of Tad Friend “artting”

i tasted a line in my caffeinated hot black juice this morning.  the normally robust and bitter flavour i enjoy so much seemed to travel as a vector down my throat and
instead of satisfying it was terrifying.  i took the rest of the morning off and went to see doctor greenmartin.  he put that oh so familiar orb of plastic and whatsit over my head and ran the usual battery of tests.  he said that all synaptic activity was firing properly and that there was no lingering
linear scarring from the cubes.  he told me not to worry and that it was normal to experience so-called vapour trails of linear brain activity after so much time in the cube.
i didn’t feel re-assured.  i felt.  i don’t know.  i went to jug o’ taste and had three ham-fisters.  all awesome, no linear taste.  it always backs up the fact that i a firm believer in the healing power of the sandwich.  eleven hundred dollars
to the good doctor for a bucket of shrugs and eighteen dollars to the lunchshop for a bucket of hugs.  it’s small wonder why it took off as a belief system when the goddamn kneejerks got around to finally realizing how effed up and unsatisfying the broken winds of organized religion had been for so long.  thanks be the mighty hoagie.  burp.

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