One of those reports (internet browsing history and list of of illegal music downloads, H through Q) wound up in a hotel room next to a dead hooker with a phone number on it (the report). I sent someone in to steal the report back from the police lockup, but apparently it was stolen by a copper with comedic aspirations, and was being used as material for his stand-up routine.
Fortunately, I don't think there is any evidence of our involvement in the matter, but I thought I'd let you all know.
On an unrelated matter, carefully constructed homing humor missiles are at a record low this year, Yakov Smirnoff had this to say "Let me go, I've done nothing! Who are you? I'm calling the police!"
More seriously, why are dead hookers and hobos so funny? People always laugh uncomfortably when they find I've left a few in their apartments, but it should be disturbing and horrible. Go figure.
Have you ever listened to 'Rhapsody in Blue' by Gershwin? It's a masterpiece of musical storytelling. It's the pure emotion of an adventure, raw experience without leaving your brain.
I find the great music I love similar perhaps, in that way, that, while Johnny Cash or Neil Young can sing a fantastic ballad using words to guide us, some composers or artists can create an experience in your mind without any conscious details, an experience of auditory impressionism, as it were, in which your mind constructs an imaginary world, guided only by the flow of music.
Perhaps this could be called 'subconscious', but that's just pretentious psychobabble those left wing elitists use when they call our catering staff in for another round of 'guess the bipolar sou chef'. I prefer my own interpretation of a misunderstood Blakian 'poetic genius', that our souls (our poetic genii) are touched directly by music, like a cat is touched by an electric spark when you rub it against a car battery.
I've been told by our legal department that they are actually 'not lawyers, stop bothering us' but I wonder what would happen if I fired off another nasty letter to the Tallahassee Police Department about their unfavorable portrayal of wallpaper thieves and hobo murderers, but still signed it in the Klingon script favored by my law firm of 'Taco Bell Manager Steve and Guy Who Sells Weed Behind the Gap, LLC, DLC, ACL, RBI'? Would they continue to send undercover bounty hunters and vice squad femme fatales into our corporate headquarters then? Huh, would they? WOULD THEY?
I think not.
Our last lawsuit worked out fine, and our lifetime supply of horse shoes is still going strong, but oddly, our horse shoe store we opened at the Promenade is failing miserably. I attribute that to the underwhelming success of our 'stick horses heads into peoples beds while they sleep' marketing scheme our drunk marketing team scrawled on a napkin for me after I paid them their monthly per diem.
That's it for the news from Lake Woebegonorillshootthisbunnyintheface, where the men are pretty neatly plastered, the women all have Spanish accents, and the children work in coal mines.
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