There's a Place in France. . .

There’s a place in France
Where the ladies wear no pants.

This little tune, also associated with cartoon snake charmers keeps coming back up since I heard a radio blurb on the origin of the tune.

These words keep on coming to my mind:

There’s a place on Mars
Where iguanas play guitars

This image haunts me, twang twang.

Finally, I am looking forward to a few days without rain, just morning fog followed by sunshine. I am enrolling with another tutoring program. This program features independent contracting, and hopefully higher pay, although I will have to travel to the students. My next scheduled tutoring is tomorrow, with three 90 minute sessions back to back from 3:30 to 8:00 PM. I am a proletariat for one day a week.

I am working my way through a sinus cold, yuk. No more to say about that except I like Nyquill.

. . . . Newsline Interzone. . . .

Anyone out there remember Naked Lunch. Is it just me or does occupied Iraq look a lot like Bill Burrough’s Interzone? Sex abuse and manufactured criminal threats to society, what more could you want? A word for the wise, stay away from the limestone caves.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.