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A brass knob had fallen on my head

Belched out on September 26, 1999.

Going to England was a waste of time. USA Up All Night now continues, on television. But I am in England. William Shakespeare is dead. I wondered who killed him, and why I couldn’t call Alyssa Milano using 1-800-CALL-ATT from England, but none of it mattered.

A brass knob had fallen on my head. “Let me call the super, and he will let us in.” I remembered that sentence from long ago. Then something else. Semper sic tyrannis. Why did I remember this? And why did I suddenly feel like a floating pi was watching me, as was my old neighbor and a small colorful bug named Iggy Kalamazoo-Kintaki-Meeps.

I stepped on a dog’s tail Monday, which caused the dog to bite my penis off, so I cut my tongue off. A car sped by me, the driver screaming in Urdu, so I bit the dog back, and picked up some interesting British coffee for my long trip home.