Remember the Pueblo. Strive at all times to bend, fold, spindle, and mutilate. Know yourself. If you need help, call the F.B.I. Exercise caution in your daily affairs, especially with those persons closest to you; that lemon on your left, for instance. Be assured that a walk through the ocean of most souls will scarcely get your feet wet. Fall not in love therefore; it will stick to your face. Gracefully surrender the things of youth; birds, clean air, tuna, Taiwan. And let not the sand of time get into your lunch. Hire people with hooks. For a good time, call 606-4311. Ask for Ken. Take heart in the deepening gloom that your dog is finally getting enough cheese. And reflect that whatever misfortune may be your lot, it could only be worse in Milwaukee.
You are a fluke of the universe. You have no right to be here. And whether you can hear it or not, the universe is laughing behind your back.
Therefore, make peace with your god, whatever you conceive him to be -- hairy thunderer or cosmic muffin. With all its hopes, dreams, promises, and urban renewal, the world continues to deteriorate.
Give up.