'memba this one?
There once was a boy from New Hampshire,
who wanted to know all of the answers.
He hitchhiked about,
'til his asshole fell out,
and discovered a new cure for cancer.
That was O' so long ago. A lot has happened since then... like when I was awakened from a scratch on my forehead by a small, black man, crouched and holing a stick with a burr on the end of it, and standing behind him, dressed in black from head to toe, with a pasty-white face of that Satan of the 20th Century; prof. dr. ROSTOW. I closed my eyes and rolled over and pretended to fall asleep. All I could think of was, "Bullet or knife, throat or head." I fell asleep after faking my breathing at a regular rate, then a sleep rate... awoke to first, rush to look in the mirror, and I saw two, small scratch marks on my forehead, with a piece of skin dangling from the larger one, which I then plucked, and immediately heated a nail-file and cauterized the wound, and its poisons, which would have spread to a ghastly sore or sores... "Stigmata" is now gone.
Hitchhiked to California. That was interesting. Wound-up in San Jose, then to Campbell on Sobrato Street.
