ON A FELLOW NAMED "BROOD", AND HIS DISRESPECTFUL TREATMENT OF FLOORMATS

So you know the place i speak of... It's mostly warm, sometimes dark, and inhabited by the annoying and sniveling man known as "Brood". Brood, right little motherfucker that he is, comes and goes as he pleases. He doesn't wipe his feet, and you can't decide whether to be excited about this or really bummed out about it. you don't know whether to have empathy for your welcome-mat or your carpet/wood-floor. and you don't know whether having the poor bastard's measly footprints all over your maple stomping ground is worse than having your welcome-mat read, "welcome home, sludge", when read as if it were one of those sentences formed by way of reading half words and half little pictures (they used to have those in those kids' magazines in the doctors' office and dentist office waiting rooms, and they used to have pictures of umbrellas and such. you would phonetically say the word that the picture brought to mind in conjunction with the letters and half-words and whole-words surrounding it. oh christ, what were they called? and dear god what was that magazine called?), or the other way around. do you like overtly-wordy sentences? i do.

Anyway, my point, which has devolved into something to which capitalization does not frequent, is something along the lines of this: you can choose whether Brood is a welcome guest or not, and frankly there aren't many times when he really should be (especially since it was he himself who thought he was welcome in the first place, and not you). Brood won't listen if you tell him nicely, so it is up to you and up to me to chuck whatever we can at him (socks, hairspray, violins, whatever) until he leaves. Also, you can lock the door to Brood, and they make these nifty things that you drill into your door that allow you to lurk whoever's knocking and either deem them worthy of entry or not. Lock your door, dudes, and if Brood knocks, tell him to take a hike and don't waste your good river-stick by giving it to him for a walking-stick.