The realization that I don't have to go to a hotel for a mint on my pillow. I just buy the mints and I can put them on my pillow any time I want. In fact, I don't even have to limit myself to just the one. I could dump out an entire bag of mints all over my pillow. I could spell out my name. I could spell out the name I wish I had instead of the name I'm legally stuck with-spell out multiple names, declare myself a spy or an international arms dealer or a deity. Buy enough bags of mints to cover the week or even the month-still cheaper than a hotel. Buy mints by the lot. Hog the regional supply. And when the mint-starved hotel chains send their hired goons to rob my shit, I just laugh as they are all destroyed within the cunning death traps of my labyrinthine redoubt. Bribes are offered, which I disdainfully reject. Fuck the money. I love the excess. I love the envy, which is, indeed, the sharpest, meanest ancillary product of my endeavors. I love the work I inflict on all those tiny little minds-ha!
Sure.
This is just one of the things I do on Wednesdays.
