Giant Pet Farm

I see no scientific purpose at my giant pet farm, nor in its production of equine feces, and postulate that it should in stead be repurposed as a silvicultural agronomy and wildlife biological radio telemetry GIS experiment station subsequent to it’s being donated to Yale University School of the Environment.

I was only able to build the cabin pictured in the Psychotropic maelstrom concurrent with the turn of the century. I had been expelled from UMass for having gone to Clemson. The convergence of dialectical and cultural land use policy debate had proven overly difficult for Doctor Griffin.

Subsequent to the professorial collusion; Ma had ceased funding anything in my life, and, after denying me a security deposit for housing proximal to my then current employment at C&S Wholesale Grocery Distribution in Western Massachusetts; I had mistakenly returned home to “the farm” ideation that had been stipulated as causality for service at the Morrill Act Two.

During this time, I had been evicted from UMass swim team housing after abandoning my Olympic Distance Freestyle Swimming objective. The US Army seemed to pertain more logically to my academic study and abandoning slower swimming US Navy SEAL teams at sea was not in my character. So, in pursuit of a real team and in search of a way in which to obtain food and clothing amidst the abject neglect and abuse scenario of being The Man at UMass, and far beneath my wealthy minded middle class UMass Amherst alums…. I fled for Alaska subsequent to a criminal deployment in the USDOI NPS under the Federal Command of Boston Postal USPS Eastern Division. Fearing for my ass, I had fled from my chair at the Provincetown Massachusetts, Race Point Beach (USPS USDOI CCNS RPB Command Structure) and towards Alaska without anything but compulsion to keep swimming behind me and with no home.

I only had scrap from the stable to build the cabin. Yet, it certainly is a manger with no vacancy relative to my home town of Killigworth Connecticut.ars later,

Nearly 30 years after I was initially maimed by the marauding serial psychotropic illicit substance distribution serial felon and US Navy Veteran David Packie, upon my arrival in South Carolina at Clemson University, I feel I am awakening from the schism of LSD and from the 27 years I have spent in the strange slumber of academics wherein I have created PEYTORILL.

I once believed in Holy Matrimony. Now I truly believe there must be a shepherd. Still, I pray there might be a woman who could love me, instead of the familial wealth amidst which I live. I am only a disabled American. I stand only with our Social Security Administration. My cloister is an abstraction. My commanding officer is Dr. Sergio Mejia.

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