The Government stopped by the other day. No knock. No warrant. Said something about it all being a “standard residential counter-measure” and proceeded in all due haste to remove all the fringes from my chair, sofa, curtains and dog’s personal vacation tote. They literally infringed upon my right to exist in my own home as I see fit…disturbing no one…enjoying my time and my day with my dogs and some hastily assembled, yet quite tasty cheese snacks.

Not much in the way of an explanation was offered as they went about their business…though they did leave behind a pamphlet on crop rotation and a framed picture of Nixon. I read the pamphlet aloud to the neighbor’s budgie that had stopped by…read it aloud wearing my fringeless bathrobe and matching fringeless otter slippers. Inside the worn pages of bureaucratic malproprisms, they told me I had no right to such furniture ornamentation. Told me I had no right to enjoy mien day with my dogs regardless of the variety incurred in the cheese snacks. Told me I had no right to be a ham advocate…avid or otherwise. And then…

Then they took all my guns and my sticks and my stones and my box of assorted pointy things and string tidbits. Told me I had no right to such.

So here I am…

Expected to pretend that dog time is not fun time and staring at a ham based household society that I no longer have the ability to fully understand or support. Add to that my recent lack of means for self defense and you have the state of the American Institution today.


Somewhere in the depths of societal discontent and finger paintings for the fridge we find Gabriella Garofalo. She’s no Navan Johnson, but her sense of entrepreneurship remains largely intact and her number wholly unlisted. Despite recent issues with rusty hinges and forlorn neighborhood watch people, she is currently working on her second Masters degree in Clinical Toxicology. Upon completion, it is likely she will disappear into the depths of the Congo where she will make valid yet vain attempts to introduce the natives to the wonders of solar cooking and the Tupperware air tight food preservation system. Likely, yet doubtful. Meanwhile, she shills away the hours with clever ruminations of life and the molecular sorts it comprises and the relentless quest for the perfect pair of socks. Should you find that these matters disturb or perplex you and you wish to go into greater detail and discover the tribulations that lie within you, please feel free to send her some sort of rant at: chickenofdoompress@gmail.com.