the very basket of all humankind: on being guest chair at the Pinestraw Technology Center.

I was talking with the guest chair at the Pine Straw Technology Center, wanting to peruse a little of that Axicos online and all that, and they hit me with the Wireless Access Protocol, the network at the building.

Consider.  Child of privelege, dependent so much on the success of his father, priveledge and access, not Hunter, not stupid enough, but Donnie, Donnie-boy-dincha-know, used to having his money position people, this Donald:

dumb enough to think.

he could pay a woman.

to close her mouth.

Poor Richie Don.

Not only did she not shut up, but got a guest spot on Hee Haw.

How so very orange do you have to be to believe money could make people do whatever you want?

But playing with the Georgia Boy's tallywhacker, was perhaps the most dental damming episode, even beyond threatening the Vice President's life.

I was reading all that on my app.

Good ole apt app.

But we were all, whether naked on the web cam, or paying off "opinion news" people, or sitting across the desk from me listening to my freestyle, we were all vines, interwined, convoluted, combobulated, knitted together like yet the smallest of strands of a common nylon rope.

I was not quite in a state of mind to look at the Anthropology studies that were to be presented across the lunch hour; my round peg had squared-out to an extent and would only fit in the hole with rudest of stuffing thrusts.

You could, perhaps, pay a woman like Harris to say whatever you like, but silence?  You think you equal to that?

Rank delusion.

That would take a kind of special dollar, and do you have any special dollars, Cheever?  Richie?  Hunter?  Harris?  Steve Hilton?

Perusing studies of marginally human things, activities and things from across the thoroughfare, looking at it, thinking, "its almost human" and that "almost" is hell, but gives it a kind of dignity in itself, that reductionist kind of humanism, that commonality, that very basket of all humanity.