Last week my computer once again got a virus. I shut it off and walked away to work on the motorhome Kori bought two weeks ago.
The motorhome has been gutted since then, but this damn computer still has issues, although we have so damn many virus scanners and killers on it they aren't doing much but pissing me off.
People who write computer viruses for fun should be lobotomized and given jobs fishing used condoms out of sewage treatment pools.
There's no reason to write them and turn them loose other than sheer malicous intent.
Now the motorhome, there's no reason to have one of them, either, but I do love a good dirty project, and if the quadrillions of dollars worth of credit default swaps go Cherynobl on the world economy, I'll at least have somewhere to sleep when I park it in one of my pal's back yards.
In honor of this motorized bedroom, I offer one of my favorite oddball artists doing his song "If Jesus Drove A Motorhome" by the deeply freaky yet shy and polite Jim White, who moves through strange air.
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