Twist Street

Sam Westing, Barney Northrup, Sandy McSouthers, Julian R. Eastman, & Me

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I was walking to my car this morning and noticed that I had that fucking Pearl Jam song Jeremy stuck in my head.  And as soon as I noticed that, it was naturally followed by the thought of “Are you goddamn kidding me?  What the hell is wrong with you, brain?"  As you would probably expect.  I don’t want that song stuck in my head! (a) I never really liked that song (and I liked some Pearl Jam fine and I liked grunge— this isn’t an anti-Pearl-Jam-grunge thing), and (b) this isn’t 1993!  Goddamnit, brain.  ”CLEARLY I REMEMBER PICKING ON THE BOY”— what? WHAT? What the fuck are you yapping about, Seattle???  Get out of my head!  This was a day with a few deadlines, a lot to get done, so I needed to go in to work all pumped up and all guns blazing and with the right energy, wind at the sails, and… and instead boo-hoo, Jeremy’s falling. I don’t really have a point in mentioning this.  I just want to shove a Q-tip deep enough into my ear to damage the parts of my brain where the lyrics of that song are apparently stored in significant detail.  When did I hear that song enough times to know that many of the words??  We unleashed the lion…?  Fuck you, Eddie Vedder.  That’s my only point, which I felt needed memorializing:  my only point is fuck you, Eddie Vedder.  Thank you for your consideration.

Filed under I am Pointless!

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