Nasty red fasty man

So there I am gliding graciaously down the freeway toward the Bay Bridge, intending in all facets of me to cross the span effaciously but no greater, when a bright red pickup truck speeds by.
Not in flow. Faster than equals. Evil yuppie redneck doing at tleast eighty miles an hour.

And I am jealous. Why, am I asking myself, why does this person of low morals have a car of more self-esteem than myself? Why I am driving aunt Priti's old station-wagon? It is a relic.

Shall not detail dissimilar paint jobs indicating multiplicity of bad driving or several previous ownerships. It has been, more or less, a family item these several years.

RED PICKUPS!

Must now re-examine the life well spent. Had I but gone into selling methamphetamine and other pleasurable illegal substances to the youthful wash-outs of middle class America, I too could be driving a brand new spanking vehicle, a blood red pickup truck with chrome spinners and a most lovely enamel job. He even has a booming box! I can still hear it.

Were it not for my low abiding character, I would speed up to enjoy the music.
The red red red of his splendiforous conveyance is still visible, leaving law abiding citizens such as my self in the East Bay dust. To the right, salt flats. To the left, industrial tureen.

Disappointed, I take last Oakland exit before bridge. All potential and expectant joys of day in sunshine of North Beach has now gone. I have lost my appetites. I shall not eat pizza today. Not any of it.

Sadly depressed and utterly downcast I return to Berkeley. Back to the land of vegetarians.
Bloody puritanical bullocks.

Not enough for Pakistan

Pakistan complains that the world is ignoring scope of disaster. A valid complaint, as funding not splendidly generous.

As it turns out, the world does not particularly care to send lots of money to a country which is a byword for corruption and terrorism, despite clear need of the population.
News articles last month made clear that the Pakistani government skimmed a very large proportion of previous disaster aid donations, some of which ended up in ISI and Taliban pockets.
Far too little got to the needy, far too late besides.

Why, the world is seeming to ask, send money and help if Paki military hijacks it, vakil class imposes commissions and conditions, and politicos direct to own pocket?
It is understandable that world is hesitant about a repeat.

The more so as Pakistani society is notorious for overlooking the world's contributions, and its own horrible failings, equally or much more so massive. Everything in Pakistan is the fault of the Zionists and the evil Yankees.
Rain, flood, earthquake, quagmire? Blame Z and evil Y.
Corruption, toxic waste, bad tv? Blame Z and evil Y.
India, existence and proximity of? Blame Z and evil Y.

But please understand, it just isn't proper entirely for a failed state, a terror supporting theftocracy, a loose cannon among the nations, populated by brigands, rapists, and violators of civilized values, to have so pressing a need. Sorry. No.
Perhaps some other time. After civilization has been succesfully introduced.

Or can we send in Christian missionaries to safeguard the donations and make sure that the suffering masses actually receive help this time?

What it is to be done

In the words of brother Igor, "iz buggery sad". And what it is, you very well should be asking!
Yes!
I will tell you. These last past several months (nearly four of them) I have not felt any creative juices or otherwise flowing, I am dry of inspiration.

No longer am I so passionate about miss Wong's prospect of roaring up on a motorcycular behemoth, nor am I passionate about her fascination with the miniscule size of Richard Becker's tiny little male member - alas, not even what Richard Becker and Forrest Schmidt do to each other when they think no one is looking fascinates me more.
Whips and chains, dear boys, it is all no matter. Do as you please, but please to not leave any spots on the carpet. Stalinate yourselves at painful will, do.


It is the place!!!

Berkeley so frightful ghastly boring locus, precisely and exactly. If not for Vic's chaat house, unliveable. People what inhabit bloody stupid, opinionated too, knowing all only even so! Unspeakable, so not to be having any conversation good heavens. Environs of pretentious universitarians what does it.

Mayhap and perchance I should move to the city, that being in all ways the beautiful SF acros body of water.
Prospects of vices and decadents night life most endearing. Cigars, trollops, and multiplicity of appeal.
It is very civilized.

I am kindly looking for recommendations: dwelling neighborhood, food avails, and places where to smoke as well as perspicate the young damsels. Please oblige.
I am a very clean lawyer.