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It turns out your friend Behr had something wrong with his brain recently, causing him to speak in words that appeared to be gibberish. The evil doers in the prison infirmary wanted to put chemicals in my body, but I rejected this since I am FULLY AWARE that science is an outright lie. I told them I only believe in non-scientific medical things and showed them the book I have, Non-Scientific Ways to Fix Your Broken Brain by Lord Henry Rogersville. I followed his recommendation of eating two human fecal logs each day combined with grape juice. As you can see, I am now fine.

During my trip to the infirmary, I learned that my old friend The Tingler is here in the maximum security federal prison in which I am wrongly being held. I don't know if I told you about The Tingler before, but he is one of the best people I've ever met. He acquired that name because he spent forty years disguising himself as a hospital janitor and while doing this, he went into patients rooms and absolutely shoved metal wires into their brains. What this did was cause them excruciating pain, but not only that, they had tingles of extreme pain for the rest of their lives. Truly a wonderful man and a role model for children. If you are looking for a role model for your kids, let me strongly recommend The Tingler.

Turns out The Tingler is on death row, which is quite upsetting, but not surprising since I was wrongly imprisoned by Obama-era FBI agents and I did not even have a trial! That is how these people work, blindly serving that Kenyan strongman who smells like sulphur and took over our country with his child army. So awful that good people like myself and The Tingler are put in prison when other people are walking around free. Please call your representatives in Congress and demand our release.

In other news, my 1976 travel book, a New York Times bestseller and winner of four Emmy awards is back in print. This fine book, 100 Public Bathrooms You Absolutely Must Visit is a great book to have when planning a summer vacation. Please order a copy today. Fifty percent of profits go to the Free Berhardt Goats Fund, and the other fifty percent goes directly into my prison bank account so that I can buy toothpaste and mittens.

I hope to be out of here soon. Please do what you can help and please contact a civil rights attorney and tell them what is happening in this prison. It is so wrong. Thank you.

God bless.

"So how are you doing, Cass?"

"I learned how to use a chainsaw!"

I've had a friend in for the past two weeks: he was isolated in Bellingham and losing his shit, so now he is in my guest room until close to the end of July. Aside from him, I am podded with friends from the ciderhouse: among other things, we went camping off an old chunk of the Oregon trail inaccessible without 4wd and large amounts of fortitude and skill.

Sometime before this, someone I loaned my truck to crashed it. My ciderhouse pod (or, perhaps, "quaranteam") has done significant repairs to it. It's not quite back to 100%, but certainly better than it was with the front end crunched in. The theme of this year appears to be "close-range failure of relationships and how you cope." Which certainly won't be the first time, or the last time. Life will have rather grim jokes when it will.

The thing about having lots of room for personal growth is that sometimes, the relationships you had when you were less healthy, more traumatized, more frightened of the world, don't work when you heal and grow into yourself. And then sometimes, you come back seven years later, and passing friendships have become close, concrete people you can go to for body burial, truck repair, and the good times, too.

And of course, all of this is happening as a microcosm a life lived in a COVID-19 pandemic year. It's a year of revolution and justice, combined with thousands dying.

Praise the gods, pass the ammunition, keep the home fires burning. It's been half a year, and we've half a year more to go.

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