Winter Fever

My coat has buttons. I can button my coat. It's important to button my coat because otherwise the wind will pass unabated through my shirt to my undershirt and go through my undershirt and grab my nip-nip-nipples. The wind pulls them. Nip-nipples. Wind. Nipples.

"Stop saying that," you might say.

Okay. Nnn...

"Is the wind pulling on your nipples a problem?" you might ask.

Well, no, not compared to the systemic oppression of the poor worldwide by agents of capitalism, the natural result of which is to concentrate wealth in the hands of fewer and fewer people, the extent of which is all hidden under a blanket, the blanket on my bed. Under that blanket lie my papers. Papers that will topple the global regime! It's all part of my quest to date a Haitian woman.

"You know," you might say, "spare me the sermon. You, a white American man, are the beneficiary of the capitalist system. If you truly feel that it's oppressive, any wealth you have, send it to Haiti. That should get you a date. Unless you're weird in French too."

I can button my coat. Nip-nipples. Wind. Nipples.
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