horace beck was at the hardy house today. he brought over some angel food cake, and as he unwrapped it he waved a finger at the 2000 u.s. census form*. "this is the same kind of horseshit that hitler did, only not to such an organized extent." he chewed his angel food cake and watched his granddaughter emme wobble about the stone tiles in the kitchen. "he didn't know how many shithouses were on each piece of property."
shortly thereafter he stood and looked over my shoulder at the eggs & spinach i was cooking. "that looks sufficiently revolting," he said. later as i doled the scrambled business onto two slices of toasted portuguese sweetbread, he eyed my plate from across the kitchen. "i hope that's nourishing," he said.
*for those who haven't had the pleasure of seeing (or setting fire to) it, the 2000 u.s. census is replete with invasive questions about income and relationship status and other items that have very little to do with the geographical population distribution of the united states.
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