Harold

As he looked at the pictures he focused on the Tyrannosaurus rex and how short his arms were. He thought it would be impossible for that animal to masturbate. Maybe that’s why he looked so furious. Harold thought that God must have done that on purpose as a joke, just to amuse himself.

He smiled thinking the world was such a fascinating interesting place and all he or anyone had to do to enjoy it was to be awake.

He said some people don’t respect the little time they have and waste it. A lot of it. Throwing their time into a wood chipper. They also destroy other people’s time by being upset over meaningless fucking bullshit.

Harold figured that one of the most important parts of the brain had to be the part that helps you decide what to say and what not to say. He figured that lots of times there was almost no control over your thinking but what to communicate was very much controllable. It could keep you from being beat up or going to jail or being elected to public office.

The dog was having a dream he was in a room with Jesus, the apostles, and Brigitte Bardot. The dog was a genius and if he had been a person would have been elected president of the United States but would have refused to take office because of integrity and a lack of arrogance.

Later when Harold was in college he would jokingly tell his girlfriends: “You should have gotten the no maintenance genitals.

For instance he felt there should be lifeguard chairs everywhere because people needed to be saved more places than just in the water.

He felt it was a very one-sided situation because the bird could go away from him way easier than he could go away from the bird. Kind of like a bad marriage.

Harold under his breath: “Ms. Yuka, I would love to kiss the backs of your legs while you were in line in a bank.

The Nazis were a perfect example that maybe there is no God. And if there really is a God and then there’s the Nazis

A South African Anndel Themil bird found only around the Indian Ocean which went extinct 10,000 years ago

There were so many things that could happen. Actually in your real life there were so many things that could happen too. The difference between fiction and nonfiction was doing something.

He was in and out of paying attention like someone who was away and occasionally came by to pick up their mail.

Harold kept realizing how magnificent it was and actually how way more important it was to not say things as it was to say them.

Like every other person who had ever been alive in the history of the world Harold really wasn’t sure if there was a God. The only thing about this fact that bothered Harold was that he didn’t like to belong to groups.

Harold was fascinated about how babies were made. Not the actual sex act. Meaning how easy and simple it was and how any two jerks could do it. He saw people who had made children and he knew they couldn't change the battery in a car or build a fence or would take 40 minutes to untangle a set of Christmas lights. He knew it was easier to make a baby than it was to make a cake.

It became a routine for Harold that whenever Ms. Yuka said: "May I have your attention." Under his breath he would say: "Get your own attention.

Ms. Yuka said: "Who knows how far the earth is from the sun?" Harold imagined yelling: "Look it up!

How different it would be if, when boats pulled huge nets out of the ocean full of thousands of fish, the fish were screaming in horror.

THERE ARE NO OTHER PEOPLE, WE ARE THE OTHER PEOPLE

two piss holes in the snow.

Harold prayed that he was either insane or not insane.

The imagining part of the factory in his head

because everything doesn’t have to make sense. Just look at the world and your life.

In Ms Yuka's class he once wrote a poem about it called: 'Listen' The last lines were - I know you know you do it, it doesn't matter to you at all you just want to keep on talking a verbal waterfall

She smelled too. Like a 22 year old girl. He tried to place that smell but he couldn't. It seemed like a mixture of skin lotion and confidence.

Looking at the wingless angel Harold firmly believed her shadow should be in color.

Harold thought how weird and strange it must be to be a girl. He was glad he wasn’t one because he didn’t think he would be able to do that. Or he wouldn’t want to do that. It’s probably good that you are what you are and that’s it. You don’t get to be both then choose after testing them out. This was in the 1960s not like many many years later when it would become like going through a sexual identity salad bar. Wright, Steven. Harold (pp. 21-22). Simon & Schuster. Kindle Edition.