I Curse the Timeline of Bezos

It was eighteen degrees this Monday morning when I walked my oldest daughter to her bus stop, the low winter sun blinding. Rude morning light illuminating my regrets.

As the bus pulled away, I wished a good day to Hot Neighbor Mom, herself a doppelgänger for a dance teacher at my upper school for the arts. Miss Papziak, Nicole maybe. And I thought of how seeing her, this Papziak Neighbor Mom, distorted my sense of time each day, and how seamlessly I was 16 again, raging with jealousy when a senior, that patchouli drenched leading man, Adam Griffith, railed Miss Papziak in the stairwell of the theatre annex.

And how my friend since fourth grade, without irony or shame, a genuine inquiry, asked Adam, did she pirouette on his dick?

And Adam just chuckled, it wasn’t even something he bragged about, but something he was caught doing. In flagrante delicto, by a jealous drama teacher who likely wished to join the fun.

As these images dissipated, I arrived back at my front door, unaware of crossing the busy street, dodging all those lemmings rushing off to work when they, like me, could be returning to their basement office inside of a closet to think hard thoughts about a book they finished last night by the soft artificial light of a pagan evergreen.

That book was Norwegian master Per Peterson’s 2016 novel, I Curse The River of Time. The title of which, as every Brother doubtless knows, is borrowed from a poem by Chairman Mao Zedong:

Fragile images of departure,

the village back then.

I curse the river of time;

thirty-two years have passed.

Fuck this. I can’t. I CAN’T do this anymore. No one reads beautiful meandering plotless books about a white man wandering the Nordic countryside in his pea coat anymore. No one reads BOOKS anymore. (Except Tony and Baker, love you bros.) But for the rest of the BFFL, I’ve been forced to make these dumb ass videos that read out your recaps for you.

And it’s one man’s fault. I will say it. I will! And no one can stop me! Lord Bezos! Say it louder now! I blame you, Lord Bezos!

FUCK YOU JEFFERY PRESTON BEZOS! This feels so good.

You industry ruining, climate poisoning, shitass fucktardo. No matter how many untold billions you spend on your circumcised Dick Rocket, you still can’t fix that lazy eye.

Hey Jeff, I’m over here.

Did you know the scientific term for lazy eye is atchaphoria? One eye is looking atcha and the other is looking phoria.

Here’s your recap, JEFF:

Becky’s Husband 100.28 — HOWERSTONE 93.08

God of Weed 114 point 23 versus A CVS Receipt 104 point 75

Jeffrey Bezos 114.23 — The Last Temptation of Dylan 112.98

BILLan Kenin 144.18 — Kyle Longjammer 118.35

The Sinners 140.40 — You’re Shitty 126.95

Offensively challenged Dyan Cannon knock off ROAD BLOCK TROOPERS, 80 point 78 to 66 point 35

Offensively challenged Devan Kenstad knock off Ain’t Givin Four Shits, 78.25–71.00

Love and Football.