Catch the wave, says one of the terminal green monsters hiding, invisible, in one of the corners of the room.

Ride into the sunset, says another green monster.

Enjoy your soft landing, says one more.

Writing-machine taking hold even as the big tit of passive subjectivity milks the dogs of Eden. Splice the gram. Trim the tron.

Lean and mean.

Family values (breed contempt).

Regards to the kids.

Say hi to Mom.

Did Dad ever get that new lawn-mower?