I set aside some time today to post something of substance; unfortunately, I’ve got nothing and it can’t be forced. So in lieu of that, here’s what’s going through my head today.

Mark Twain was an overrated, mean-spirited shitbag. He was a newspaper hack who never really understood the novel, though he talked like he invented the damned thing. Yes, they say he had charisma, but so do many arsonists, motivational speakers and con men, all of which I hold in the same regard.

I never forgave Twain for his idiotic and exaggerated criticism of JF Cooper. He came off looking like the nasty bastard he probably was. Aside from my unexplainable contempt for Twain today, my thoughts have been relatively shallow.

I don’t like Poptarts; they just don’t appeal to me.

I never had a proper lunch today and now I’ve got the urge to stuff big fistfuls of dry cornflakes into my mouth. I do that sometimes, late at night, when I’m lying on the couch alone. I lie there like a bum with the TV volume low, so as not to wake anyone, and stuff big fistfuls of cornflakes into my mouth. I’m careful not let the crumbs get on the couch or fall in between the cushions, because that’s tantamount to killing kittens in my wife’s view. That and I’m not a pig. I don’t wish to wallow in filth myself.

And I lie there in my underwear and a wife-beater, flipping through the channels, looking for salvation.

Some days you have it, some days not so much.