Sunny Breaks

They shouldn’t let mormons in this country. It’s just not cricket. If it were cricket, it’d be like letting Starscream the Decepticon Transformer on a team, he’d be running into bowl, get to the crease, stop and just shoot the batsman with a heat-seeking missile.

At least I imagine the LDSes have an unfair advantage with their salt-lake whiteness, blue eyes, trousers and short-sleeved white shirts. Perhaps folks act nice to them and tell them they’re handsome then they move in for the kill, ask the marks if they’ll hand over their eternal souls to Morm-Almighty (or whatever their deity is)—only to be told “I need to time to think about it”.

Everytime I bump them and their fool grins I’m down and having a bad day – which is always. If I got stuck waiting for a table at the restaurant at the end of the universe and the closest things to humanoid company were a couple of mormons and a waist-high, quivering purple jelly thing with tentacles, you can bet yr pants I’d be buddying up with the jelly dude.

Of those others also here, I do like the Uzbekkis though. They’re beat. I’ll be cruising the chung-ang-no, scanning faces, notice the something slightly different of an Uzbekka and be taken by how subtley shifty they look. There’s one guy lives somewhere near me who’s the dead-set replicant of Harry Dean Stanton.
They should open a restaurant.