Why are we freaking out here?...It's like the animals before a tsunami. Headed for high ground; no direction home. The feds are at the front door as we scurry like cockroaches out the back in the dark.
The Horror. The Horror.
My accountant emailed me some poems to cheer me up. There is no hope. We need to overwhelm them with paper; meaninless receipts and the sworn testimony from migrant workers. Take no responsibility...there will be no prisoners.
1 comment:
i will gladly pose as a migrant worker
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