Nice to hear from you again. Movable Feast? Why not, as long as we're not just talking Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Stein, et al. So a little more Carnie and a little less Art Whitey in the mixture please. I'm not saying you have to con or scam your patrons of our too-Late Capitalism, but how 'bout hangin' with those homeboys only on Poker Night. Your deck, as well. In other words, don't make some statement of purpose for this movable feast, let it happen. Shit happens. Well, so does bullshit, but that's better than trying to bullshit the bullshitters. This is an inside job. Rats, or whatever. Hey, who's the editor for this impending rat-zine? Tell him/her I've got the name. SINKING SHIP. I've also got a rat story. Well not exactly rat, but rodent. The lemming. We always try to use the lemmings as some kind of Jonestown metaphor. A mass-suicide story. Au contraire, mon frere. These little guys are just overpopulated and hungry from a spring-long fuckfest. They swim fjord after fjord "in search of" and reach land each time. When they jump off that last cliff, the expectation is yet another fjord, not some marathon ocean. Likewise, the Vikings discover America. Hey, another SINKING SHIP.
and Ho Ho Ho,