Visa 2.0

But now . . . there’s nowhere to hide since you pushed my love aside; I’m outta my head . . . hopelessly devoted to you.

Sorry about that; I was having a dream there for a minute . . . I thought I was John Travolta, and Olivia Newton John was singing to me. It’s a good thing that I live in a free country where I can have weird thoughts and dreams like that without being punished. Back in my home country of Mypos, the punishment for impersonating John Travolta is six months in a grease pit surrounded by rabid ducks. It’s very disturbing. Anyway, speaking of my homeland, I’m reminded of a dear old friend of mine from my childhood, Boris Pocus.

As a child he claimed that he had some sort of power to cause tornadoes or something. I’ve lost touch with him. Hopefully I’ll be able to find him on the Google or the Facebook. I’ve tried to get back to my homeland many times. I finally made it a few months ago. The problem, however, when I tried to re-enter this great country, they said that my Visa was old school . . . I needed to be more hip . . . I needed Visa 2.0. So I made a deal with the TSA agent . . . don’t touch my crotch, and I won’t infest your brain with nano-flies . . . I learned that trick from Boris.

Anyway, short story long . . . I’m back, and I still can’t find Boris.