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Or

The Dishwashers as seen through the eyes of The Wild Woman of Borneo.


digital photomontage, 22 x 14 inches

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Yes. I’ll admit it. We are freaks.

She’s right about that much.

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Where we went wrong, perhaps, is trying to raise her like one.

Nah.

I mean, look at her.

She’s twice as strange as us.

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We love her, though it will be our undoing.

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Yesterday we got a box in the mail. Inside it were the courses we ordered from THE TEACHING COMPANY. We got “Building Great Sentences: Exploring the Writer’s Craft” and “Big History: The Big Bang, Life on Earth, and the Rise of Humanity.”

Each one is thirty or forty lectures from some hot-shit college perfessers on the topic. THE TEACHING COMPANY genetically engineers their speakers from the DNA of Albert Einstein, Brad Pitt, Sir Richard Attenborough, and Glen Gould. Something like that.

They say it is like taking a college class from GOD only there is no homework and no grades, and a very low likelihood of showing up and finding out it is the last day of class, you’re just in time to take the final exam, and you’re not wearing any pants.

Which pretty much sums up my brief college experience.

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So, my redemption may be at hand.

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I got four days off and I’m not doing shit except having two weekends in a row. Today is Saturday until after dinner, when I will make it be Sunday evening. Then I will wake up and it will be Saturday all over again. Then on Sunday, it will be Sunday until lunchtime, when I will make it be Saturday afternoon for the third day in a row. Monday will be Sunday pretty much all day, which will suck, but there’s nothing for it.

I will cook a lot of food and go for a lot of walks and do art, art, art, art, art, and clean the house and the fish tank and kiss my girl on Valentines, which now I don’t know when the fuck it is.

Guess I’ll just kiss her a bunch to be safe.

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My goddamn wife.

She is a space alien from the future.

I love her like nobody’s bidness.

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Namaste, motherfuckers.

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