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My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

tough guy poetry and manly stories of loneliness
all contents copyright Jon Rolston 2004, 2005, 2006

November 26, 2009

I’m from New Hampshire, so I’m number 9 in line. In other words, 41 states have to listen to me before they can talk about America. But I have moved to California which is falling apart and some people say it’s because they wanted to give a free education to every citizen.

I was just painting Sean-O’s kitchen while he’s at his step mother’s celebrating Thanksgiving. Some radical listener supported radio station started playing reenactments of Indian massacres. We, as white people, on that ragged eastern Seaboard, had wiped out Indians by 1850, but out here in the West, Gold Fever just struck. We had Chinese, Mexicans, and a few scared natives still running around. Imagine taking a pack mule through some stretch of woods you didn’t know. This is the time where alien really was alien. Alien among the species.
Let’s switch gears…tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. Those first settlers just wanted to thank their God that they survived winter. The first Thanksgiving is before we started, as white people, killing Indians.

I know, you’re watching football and you don’t want to hear about that. But I’m in the West now. There’s probably more real Indians out here than there are cowboys. I mean, cowboys only really lived for about 40 years. But I went to SF State with a girl who, when her Grandmother died, she saw the last person who knew how to speak her language die.

I’ve met Indians in California. No amount of fishing derby on the Winnacunant will match that. New England killed it’s Indians way better than the West ever did.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Will you give thanks for things for things you achieved by hurting others? Are you happy that you have a home because you’ve sent others to prison? Are you thankful that your family is successful because there is a war in Afghanistan and Iraq? I mean, am I thankful myself that suckers don’t see me coming? I’d like each of you to send me twenty bucks this sacred fourth Thursday of November, to show your thanks that free speech is still alive.
I promise to spend it on a round of beers at a local bar, where I will tell everyone what I think.
Thank you.


  1. Let me be the first to say that freedom isn’t free, it costs a buck twenty five a pound and I just brung in some fresh ones you can have for less than half that if you buy a ton.

    Comment by Rolston — November 26, 2009 @ 3:07 am

  2. go fuck yourself until you don’t feel guilty

    Comment by Rolston — November 26, 2009 @ 3:11 am

  3. I don’t remember writing that last comment, but it has my name attached to it. I was pretty drunk at that point, and high on paint fumes. You’ll notice how the post rambled and came to a weird conclusion. It was supposed to be a “careful what you’re Thankful for” post about this holiday. Sorry for the swear word. i could delete it, but it would be like lying about how drunk I was.

    Comment by Rolston — November 26, 2009 @ 11:37 am

  4. If our gains are ill-gotten, shouldn’t we be extra thankful?

    Comment by Lyle_S — November 26, 2009 @ 2:11 pm

  5. i dint kill no fuckin indians any more than i whooped negros.

    thanksgiving’s about putting up with family, as far as i can tell.

    Comment by don lawn — November 27, 2009 @ 5:31 pm

  6. thankful we haven’t been caught yet…

    Comment by Rolston — November 29, 2009 @ 1:06 am

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