Hermits Rock

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What??? What???

These are 50 cal. rounds my dad charged and took a photo of. They go in his 50 cal. rifle.

JH loves Eggers.



And you love Ayn Rand.

Howard Roark would kick your ass to the ground. Then, after watching impassively as you died, he would build a skyscraper on your grave.

I’ll have a few beers and get back to you on that one.

what, can’t handle my objectivist skillz while sober?

Ellsworth Toohey will bury your head in his sweaty jelly rolls of fat while extolling the values of Christianity/socialism/non-objectivism.

Someone else’s critique of collectivism is all you’ve got? Show some individual talent, British boy.

I’m no more obligated to do so than you are obligated to defend your passionate love for Eggers and his cutesy style of irony, a love whose intensity you mask by projecting it onto me.


The author wishes first and foremost to acknowledge his friends at NASA and the United States Marine Corps, for their great support and unquantifiable help with the technical aspects of this story. Les saludo, muchachos! He wishes also to acknowledge the many people who have stretched the meaning of generosity by allowing their real names and actions to appear in this book. This goes doubly for the author’s siblings, especially his sister Beth, whose memories were in most places more vivid, and triply for Toph (pronounced “Tofe”), for obvious reasons. His older brother Bill is not being singled out because he is a Republican. The author would like to acknowledge that he does not look good in red. Or pin, or orange, or even yellow—he is not a spring. And until last year he thought Evelyn Waugh was a woman, and that George Eliot was a man. Further, the author, and those behind the making of this book, wish to acknowledge that yes, there are perhaps too many memoir-sorts of books being written at this juncture, and that such books, about real things and real people, as opposed to kind-of made up things and people, are inherently vile and corrupt and wrong and evil and bad, but would like to remind everyone that we could all do worse, as readers and as writers. (Eggers, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, p. xix)

There’s more where that came from, Jehosophat.

No doubt there is, since you obviously own a copy of the book, which means you’ve made Eggers a few dollars richer than he normally would be, which means you bought him a latte. You and Dave Eggers went out on a date, haha. A latte date.

Latte datte, we likes to patte. We dont cause trouble we dont botha nobody.

9 was pwnd long before it was ever a thought in JH’s mind. and 10 did the pwning out loud.

Ok, ok, so I was phoning it in, so what? You can’t be on 100% of the time. Very good, J, very good.

You give J too much credit for being around these days. Clearly this was a fluke, because 10 wasn’t he.