My New Gran Torino

I just bought a mint condition 1968 Gran Torino and a house in LA based on the sales of self-published, 98-page pamphlets that nobody buys and are completely unavailable in retail outlets.

How did I do it? Simple. Acid. I'm stoned out of my gourd, and as Mother brings me my PB&J, I tell her all about my fictional dates with non-Jewish actresses and how I plan to become a Mormon so I can destroy the LDS Church from the inside.

Plus I play Farmville.

Gotta go! Crops must be harvested, and I have to go to the ribbon-cutting of the Library of Languatron, which I hallucinate exists next to the Tower of London but is actually an extension of the sores built by the crabs who live in my anal psoriasis.