Turkish Delights

Well hellloooo.
Whoa, I found these sweet animals called vicunas, and they live in South America, and they are kind of like great llamas. Whoa, actually it is thought to be a wild cousin of the alpaca, and their longest hair is their chest hair. Thank the Lord that humans are not like that, at least most of us.
Today there was this old white guy who came into my work and he told me about how he was going to go into the desert (like JESUS in his temptation) for three days with all these other people just to look for wild bighorn sheep. They are monstrous and disapproving and have elaborately curved horns. I kind of want to meet one, and have a respectful encounter with it.

Last night Armando had nightmares about making falafel sandwiches, and it wrecked his slumber.

Yesterday this broad thought that my ethnicity was Pacific Islander, and I was like, "Whoa, what the fuck," especially because the day before, some broad at work thought my sister was of that very same heritage. People are foolish. They always think I am Muslim or Algerian or Egyptian or some shit, and I'm like, "No, fools, I'm just part REGULAR black." Haa, there was that one time when I was walking home from class down DeMun, and I ran into this middle-aged white Clayton broad who was out walking her foolish-ass dogs, and she said, "My I touch your hair?" and I was like, "Uh, okay," and then she stroked it reverently and smiled and kept saying, "Wow, it's almost Egyptian!"

There was this pregnant African broad who wanted nothing but lamb kabob meat, and fast. "Dude, you do not deny a pregnant woman, especially when she is wearing grapes on her necklace," I said to Luis, and it was true, because she had a cluster of little golden grapes on her necklace.

Dude, there are a lot of fucked-up things here. Like, I work with this 17-year-old Afghani boy named Ramin who is MARRIED, because Muslims sometimes do shit like that because apparently Muslims can't date, and they get married in high school even when nobody's knocked up, and it's crazy because he's also a pothead, and he uses the same weightless anti-frizz SERUM (that is a fun thing to say) on his hair that my sister and I do. Also he was impressed that I was able to work productively and profitably while high, and not fuck anything up. "That's some gangster shit," he said to me respectfully.

Last night this broad kept calling and asking, "Uh, do you have Turkish Delights?" and she was so obsessed with them, so finally I told her, "We have all the varieties of Turkish Delights that your heart desires," and my boss Mahmoud said, "That was a good answer." And then she came in and it was very true. Some people are just really obsessed with Turkish delights for no reason.

And for some reason a lot of the men here in San Diego like to wear their shirts buttoned down really low so you can see all their chest hair and shit, and it is really grotesque, and it disturbs me that they seem to think it is appropriate.

Haa, Sage out. I need to read William Blake's Songs of Experience while high, and look for undercurrents of dark sexuality to use for some future grad school paper (it is a main theme in the collection, but for some reason I was the first person to point that out, because I have a very prurient mind when reading literature I guess).



Whoa, now THAT is what a vicuna looks like. Now I want one.