Let me tell you, Big Guy, the life of a Neocon stoner is a happy life. If the drugs run out, there’s always the ideology to shield you from reality.
Make it up as you go along, I always say. What a heady experience it is to slip the fetters of facts and float free in the ether of fantasy. No more flesh, no more blood, just make believe reduced to numbers dancing across a computer screen as they chant the mantra that explains it all: “If it ain’t a number, it ain’t.”
You’ve shown the world the upside of being a simpleton. No matter how big a whopper you tell, the world assumes that you’re too stupid to lie. This gives you an empty playing field upon which to play.
That is why we’re such soul mates. My meth-addled brain resonates with your booze-addled brain, and together we make beautiful music.
May you reign forever.