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

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.  like I needed something damn substantial so i went to jug o’ taste and had three ham-fisters all awesome, no linear
taste.  hallelujah. it always backs up the fact that i’m 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 lunchjug for a bucket of holy healers.  it’s small wonder why it took off as a belief system when the goddamn kneejerks–okay, wait, yeah sure that’s also me included i admit but i will also preface that with the very true and honest statement that i was howling the virtues of the universal sandwich since my first tiny taste way back when it was just a dilapidated food truck in an alley off main street. so anyhow me and rest of society got around to finally realizing how effed up and unsatisfying the broken winds of obsolete greedcentric asshole organized shithead religion had been for so long and finally we all decided to kneel down and tuck in to the mighty mighty mighty hoagie in the infinite sky.  burps be to all.

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