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Friends of Free,

I apologize that there was no correspondence on this blog Sunday or yesterday.  But, having shown up at the Democratic rally on Sunday for Martha Coakley, I was instantly appalled by the lack of both enthusiasm and creative canvassing  techniques. I spent the good portion of two hours scouring the Northeastern campus for young, vibrant Americans willing to make the local news with displays of force against the ‘Scott Brown Bus to Nowhere in Particular.’ However, it became apparent from the start that mine would be a losing effort and that college kids are, indeed, as they always seem these days, only interested in pussy, pizza, and pot.

That being the case, I abandoned my cry for protest and decided (since I was already there) to partake in two of these passive pastimes.  I already had a big bag of weed on me and it’s been quite a while since I’ve had a girl in her early twenties. You’d be fucking surprised how easy it is to pick up a chick when you’re older, smarter, and carrying grass on that campus.

Thus, instead of attacking the ‘Scott Brown Bus to Nowhere,’ I decided to take up the offer from a young woman to retire back to her dorm room. All was right for a quick fuck— she had the booze, I had the chronic, Haiti and a Democratic campaign decimated by plate tectonics.

So, after having a lustful and pleasant fuck, I left the dorm building empty and wide-eyed.  The world seemed different to me— almost more like the quiet and slowly fucked Rochester, New York I’d left a few short hours earlier.

The ground— it was shifting under our feet. The indifference smelled like the quietness just before a storm. It was a bust about to burst; a swollen colostomy bag of shit; a loss that didn’t even seem worth losing. I looked up at the grey, empty sky and all it looked like was a long and steady rain.

I’d have to say it’s time to cut our losses and start eating our dead.

- Free

Hey Pat,

I’d like to chime in here, if that’s okay.  As someone who has stuck my dick into the glorious flower of a number of beautiful Haitian princesses since coming to this Boston area, I believe you may be right on this Satan thing.  I have come to realize that I myself am also in a deal with the devil, which I believe was caused by a dark sickness that travelled into me through the jezebel juice of these beautiful, Haitian temptresses. I believe this to be the case because every night, before I go to bed, I drink from my satanic goblet filled of my own blood and I pray to the Prince of Darkness that he will strike you and your horse shit, Christ-sucking, gay-hating, ignorant and cultish, weak-minded followers with the hellfire of the most brutal and debilitating of terminal illnesses. I drink from this cup each night and I pray to my god, Lucifer him-fucking-self, that locusts will enter your skin and eat you from the outside in. So, yes, Pat— with all due respect to the delightful and kind Haitian women I have shared my bed and political philosophies with— I think you are onto something here. For, we both know that the Devil hath no bounds and may appear in the places you least expected he would exist.

Your Trapped Follower in Christ,

Freemont Arthur Barrington, S.L.