I am not angry. I wish I was, but I'm too

I decided I wasn't going to worry any more about it. I would be Sans Souci, as it were. And I would comfort myself by eating an entire box of Krispy Kremes.

I reveled in their sweet, creamy goodness, tand washed it all down with a glass of milk. Suddenly a blatant burp erupted from somewhere within, which unfortunately woke the

cat that was snoozing on the rug in front of the fireplace. The cat was not amused at being awoken by my burp and hissed at me before running off to look at itself in the mirror

that previously it had instructed me to position at a convenient cat height. The cat consulted with its mirror-twin and apparently they were both fans of the Alan Parsons Project,

The Alan Parson's project was "thinking man's" music, mused the scientist conducting the above study. He remembered when he went to a Yes concert with Toby. They'd smoked a

Joint, the stinkiest ever, and they marvelled at how Yes could write anything logical because they were art rock types. Some four years later, Yes was still going and celebrating

the integrity their avant-garde status as they still hadn't been admitted to the plebian Rock'n'Roll Hall of Fame. In fact, Yes had rigged the voting for said award against themsel

ves. They were about moving the story along not in codifying it into commodification priced to kick the suckers in the family jewels at every opportunity.

The cost factor was through the roof. Stories were outrageous & folded stories more so. Every sucker in town bought in. And somewhere from his computer the Purple Prof. smiled.