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Entry date: 9-14-2023 – Rando Thursday – Letters to My Friends

Dear Friends,

Rando Thursday sounds like a Star Wars character that didn’t make the final cut of the film. Maybe Rando Thursday is from a Star Wars knock off made in some weird Eastern European country that no one has ever heard of. A descendent of the Bolshevik Revolution, Rando Thursday battles occasional incontinence and has a harelip.

But he’s also a survivor.

Rando Thursday knows no human boundaries because he’s only part human. The other part of genetic makeup comes from Delflag97B. Delflagitites can manipulate dimensions but also have exceptionally weak constitutions when it comes to digesting complex sugars, hence the occasional incontinence. It’s a drag for Rando, but he manages.

His harelip is also a gift from his Delfagitite father, Daldo Thursday, who thought it would be funny to toss around a seven-dimensional throwing star that accidentally struck Rando on the day before his 47th birthday. The star split Rando’s lip before lodging itself in his bright pink gums. Peralta Snogglebottom, Rando’s mother, was so incensed that she kicked Daldo in the dingus and knocked him into another dimensional plane.

Rando secretly blames his mother for growing up without a father, but Daldo could have come back any time after his fourteen testicle-like sacs re-inflated. In Earth time, that process only takes about an hour, but like many fathers before him searching for the eternal pack of smokes, Daldo made like a battery and drained away. Rando and Daldo never saw each other again.

Until the sequel.


Good practice last night. We still got it. It was rough on a few songs we haven’t played for a long time, but also encouraging. I think the set for Oct 27 is going to be killer.


Got the cover of the New Times again. It’s out today. I’m going to have to remember to grab a copy or ten.


Haiku time:

One celled animal

Prods the soiled underwear

Of a two celled friend

I am a care bear

Named Dimple Pecker Junior.

Don’t fuck with me, man.

He’s a cocaine kid.

Mommy loved the rock too much to

Think about her baby.

Now he can’t control

Himself forty seconds of

Every minute.

Chemicals screwed him.

Little struggling dude in class

Does not understand.

He blames his father

For the lies he often tells

But the words are his.

I see him trying.

I see him making strides each day.

But the damaged scars.

Are tied around his

Neck like ropes of mother’s milk.

The Poisonous gifts.


Fuck. I have this student in my class who is a cocaine baby. I love him but he has a lot on his mind and can’t focus very wel. My principal wanted me to have him. Maybe she hates me. I don’t think that’s the case. I think she thinks I can help him.

I hope I can.

I’ll keep trying.

See you tomorrow.

The Father Figures play for the kids.

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