Fireside

Toaster strudel doesn't make much sense. Microwave toaster strudel does. In the race to the bottom you need to get there first. Who knows what kind of great shiny things and glory await should you arrive just a few seconds sooner. Maybe in an ironic world getting there sooner means you've arrived at the strudel factory just in time to make more strudel. The toaster kind. Higher margins, more room for unions, paid vacations, health care and the like. Not like those poor schmucks working across the street in the microwave toaster strudel factory. Illegals, no minimum wage, holidays, PTO, nothing. Just super fast strudel, super fast. Though what this has to do with a fireside chat only you may know. Certainly it evades reason. Cognitive linkages even. What it really could be is that the hearth and meeting place, a place to commune, has moved, disappeared and reappeared to reside anew elsewhere. The place which defines and pushes back the edge of the dark, the unknown itself is unknown in a world without basis. Which in of itself explains why microwave toaster strudel is required in order to speed up the frantic search for self while gagging on a pastry.

Oh dear god, raccoons. in. the. yard. again. Time to get a torch and yell.