Don’t worry about getting here fast. Just get here. And bring the copyright statutes. I think that clown Helprin stole some of my ideas.
After all, I too was once a stodgy conservative ass working for the Claremont Institute. Those bastards!
Took everything I had, every idea on every scrap of paper. They melted it all down and made one giant, congealed mess of a conservative platform on which they laid down their subservience to corporate power while railing against the state.
Those evil idiots! A pox upon them all!
You cannot go around decrying the evils of one system while fellating the evils of another. Intellectual chicanery and pure, unadulterated cockamamie!
I will not stand for insults against America like these! Unlimited copyright! An unlimited supply! And there is no reason why! I tell you, it was all a frame!
Who?
Claremont Institute, that’s who!
Give them thirty-seven years of my precious life. Devoted sixteen hours a day in the cellar of their sub-basement and they took it all and left me a bitter leftist guerilla in the mist, pissed that I can no longer get a day job at any decent rate with Banana Republic or even in a banana republic.
Those grisly little pricks. I hope Friedman’s ghost leaks some anti-freeze into their corn flakes. Terrible monkeys. Flailing away at a thousand typewriters like they have some point or purpose or, worse, a high-minded American agenda.
They are as American as Radiohead. No, #### that. Radiohead are at least British. Those bastards are Air. French aristocrats to a man.
Finks.
