My soul brother, the man that feels to me like the little brother I never had, because the one I had beat my ass in the ring, and when I go to retail stores people mistake me for Mescaline's father, recently completed his journey from Flushing, Queens, New York to Flagstaff Arizona and back again.

As he comes to town for training, I shall interrogate him, one state at a time, concerning his impressions of these segments of social decay called States.

To welcome him home, Big Ron and I beat him in the head with sticks for an hour this Wednesday morning, so I will endeavor to make up for his sudden inability to write nonfiction by interrogating him on his every visit.

The Awakening of a Paleface Ethnocist