Election Day

Well, ladies and gents, ole Quint has slacked off something awful these past couple of weeks, and he fears that it will cost him the presidential election. The fact that I spent more time imagining myself campaigning during my last acid trip than I actually did in reality, I'm going to venture a guess and say that I probably stand very little chance of winning.

So, what to do now? Perhaps sail the seven seas once more. Maybe start a rock and roll band and tour the world, no doubt spending an inordinate amount of time in Amsterdam guzzling absinthe and smoking reefer. Oh, and not to mention soliciting prostitutes in the red light district! I could even start my own outlaw motorcycle club and ride around clubbing pedestrians to within an inch of their lives...

Ahhh, all of these adventures sound lovely indeed, but they are merely a few choices in a nearly limitless sea of possibility. As for now, I'm preparing to head over to the local Taco Bell to rustle up some supper. You wouldn't believe how many chalupas they toss into that dumpster! A man could eat like a king forever. Wait a second, I probably shouldn't have told ye that. Stay away from me Taco Bell, ya brigands!