A seagull divebombed my hat during lunch in 7th grade and I didn't notice the drying streaks of multi-hued shit until someone pointed it out in algebra an hour later. Thanks for making me relive the laughter, David.
Stars align. This was one of the first insults I’d dared ask for, and it was the first insult I’d received outside of a reading/signing. It was as if Hemmingway Himself guided me to The Strand that day in search of a rare book. I normally don’t put much stock in religion, but there’s still enough old Catholic spiritualism (and self-loathing) kicking around in my subsconcious to wonder if I’d been guided to Mr. Mitchell by way of a Flying Spaghetti Monster.