The Year of Living Aimlessly.

Florida: a place where people come to hide their hillbilly heritage but fail miserably. Where anybody caught using a sidewalk is either some sort of environmental activist or homeless. Where the average age is north of god. Where invasive species battle it out for life-form dominance. Where the afternoon showers are gods way of trying to wash away the madness. Where parking your car further than one hundred feet from your destination is seen as a character flaw. And where the price of oxycontin is followed with  the enthusiasm of the NFL draft.

I’m staying at my friends Gary’s house… and by house I mean compound. He’s set himself up as a modern day guru, leading his own cult. It’s a combination of pagan witchcraft and scouting. He sees himself as a mix of Jim Jones and Hans Grubber with just a hint of Mussolini thrown in. (He likes the uniforms). Anyway, his religion is a harsh mix of beatings and self recriminations, all the while roaming the streets of Tallahassee outing complete strangers as communists. The hours are terrible but the merit badges are to die for.

Unfortunately I’m having to take a break from my trip for a few months as my cancer research comes first. Is it really just a water sign? Why is it ruled by the moon? Are Virgos really better? If I can make one horoscope less crap, then my work won’t have been in vain. Stay tuned, god willing, the journey will continue.

If you were offended by any of this, don’t be. It’s a lot  like Donald Trumps first foray into the porn industry; his teaming of orange sock puppets and bikini wearing hamsters were perhaps too visionary for some people, but in the end we’re all going to die, so lighten up.