The other day, a student gave me a copy of one of Bukowski’s posthumously published diaries, The Captain is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship. It’s a real pick-me-up, as you’d expect.  For some reason, though, I can’t read the entries without hearing John McCain’s voice. Here’s an excerpt from the entry written on this date in 1991.

I’m not good company, talking is not my idea of anything at all. I don’t want to exchange ideas — or souls. I’m just a block of stone unto myself. I want to stay within that block, unmolested. It was that way from the beginning . . . .I think that people who keep notebooks and jot down their thoughts are jerk-offs. I am only doing this because somebody suggested I do it, so you see, I’m not even an original jerk-off. But this somehow makes it easier. I just let it roll. Like a hot turd down a hill.

Can you hear the McCain?  Maybe it’s just me.  And maybe it would be funnier in Sarah Palin’s voice.  I dunno.  It’s been a weird fucking week.