I’m tired of all the people with their light-blue houses and hired machinery! How is there any plant left around here that still needs to be chain-sawed? What would be audacious or stupid enough to grow here?

And evidently that’s not enough, because here comes an intentionally ugly, blatantly wasteful 1950s car in fact accurately described as a “jalopy” that’s even louder! A backup plan, I suppose.

I’m tired, tired tired. Not just of this section of this town, but I mean this section of the continent in general. Every house is white or blue, and every mailbox has a boat or a beach or a beach with boats painted on it if it has anything painted on it. Every wall-hung painting is of a ship or a boat. You’re right down the road from the ocean, and I see you walking back from there every day! You have real boats! If you have the freedom to decorate as you please, why not depict things which you don’t see every day of your life? Like armadillos or the Taj Mahal or Mexicans not employed by you? Have you no imagination? It’s just like how nobody likes theoretically artistic recreations of large boots, barbed wire and dead cow skulls more than in Texas. People are obsessed with the shape of Texas. Don’t you see that every time you watch a weather forecast or visit a public building? Or is that just something city folk do?

I’m fed up and starved down of N’ England, so I will be spending the next week far away from Connecticut, far to the east. Yes, the far east (but not the down east). All the far way east to the Cape Cod. To a place which embodies everything I’m sick of here (It’s named after a fish, for frog’s sake), just without the personal accompaniments and machinations I’m not sick of, the things I maintain my few remnants of sanity with. The biggest difference seems to be, at least according to the giggle images machine, that every home has a complimentary lighthouse growing next to it. Maybe I’ll get to eat in more restaurants shaped like boats* which make no accommodation or preparation for any patron who doesn’t want lobster or clam chowder. I made sure I would be staying in a rented house, too, so I could feel like a hypocrite for decrying the decry-worthy scoundrels who come here in the summer and think they own it, polluting it with their noise and ever increasing number of fences, despite utterly gweepsing out the instant the temperature drops below 70 degrees fahrenheugen. Thankfully, the grass-cutting club continues to return through November.

If you’re wearing a coat, it’s too cold to cut the grass! Also, if the grass has become yellow through any natural process unrelated to my own natural processes forming a loving union with gravity.

Wow, even the sand’s famous! I’d love to see your magnificent lumps of weak-willed dirt!

I don’t understand driving in a car for half ever to reach a place that looks just like Madison and that we still need to drive long distances from to get to any specific destinations which are still all 19th century / nautically themed. I’ve exceeded my fill of dopey restaurants in which the only non-chowder soup is “cheese onion.” Tugboat Inn = Guilford Mooring 6 hours’ drive from my home. I do not like either of those places.

*

It is unusual to eat inside a boat and all, but that doesn’t affect the flavor of the food much. I’m tired of places judging me for only wanting appetizers, specifically chicken fingers, and not even having good chicken fingers. I can understand them not knowing their way around a quesadilla… and I’m sure they’re glad to have my support. I had to get a quesadilla because they didn’t have chicken fingers at all. Or maybe they did, but only for “li’l sailors” or “young trappers” or “subservient cabin boys for long voyages” or whatever embarrassing thing they happen to call special children orders. I really ought to know better than to not like the flesh of the same small, helpless, murdered animal in my mouth as you.
But I’m digressing, and AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHJ I’VE BEEN PUNCHED IN THE NOSE!

In the event I’m incorrect in assuming my mother no longer watches this page, I should add that, at least today, I’m not criticizing the trip[s] [them]sel[ves]. Just Maine [and places like it] thinking [they’re] great. It’s nothing against you. It’s something against [someone else].