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June 23, 2013

A metaphor longer than the orgasm I gave your mom last night.

There's a strange way of saying goodbye--it's like a script that everyone wishes was written, especially for them, especially for each situation that reaches each person in just the right way, so we can get the exact type of closure we crave, just when we crave it. It's like seeing a lion surfing in Australia--the first thing you question is why a lion is free in Australia, then you wonder why tigers and lions don't live in the same habitats, then you start to think that maybe your priorities are skewed in a situation in which it would perhaps be more prudent to be contemplating the best possible route of escape from a fellow surfer, rather than considering the repercussions of transpecies intercontinental migration patterns and the habits of native creatures that refuse to believe their nonexistence in certain habitats is a merely a coincidental result of global warming and tidal patterns, which might seem to the reader to be an impractical pastime for a lion, but at the same time one must consider that said pastime might be the only factor that separates a relaxing vacation from a waste of frequent flyer miles, in the ultimate assessment of a life. And just as one paddles ironically out to a distant prison-ship, we all are only looking for the best way, the simplest way, to guard ourselves against conclusion and prolong our enjoyment as much as possible, because we can't ever find closure until we know they're gone forever.