he ate one fish and thirty seven hair-thin fish bones got stuck in his brain he never saw the light of the day again his head got stuck in his 70s basement where he dreamed he was a Spider Man and in the end he became a bullshit dispenser call it department of subtle misinformation sensory distractions, facts iterations he does his job well, so well he confused his own nerves and his demanding clientele for whom he composed bullshit lines that open any shrewd wallet but only if they believe that the fish he ate made him all-knowing and they keep paying him, in kind and they desperately do, translate: gladly believing that they believe that he is the one to know the way of fulfilled wishes of being pleased and ever-pleasing untouched by anything unpleasant for such is the tao of a real proud loser without a song in his heart but plenty on his lips
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