The Tao of Kirsten Dunst vs. the Tao of Natalie Merchant. Or: Why I packed my crappiest shirts and shittiest underwear

A few days ago I stopped by the bookstore to pick up some stuff and there was this guy in line before me, he had this book The Tao of Jeet-Kune-Do in his hands. It’s a posthumous collection of the writings of Bruce Lee.
Kind of funny, isn’t it? Guy goes to this fancy bookstore and orders in a book about martial arts… Like, I’m not criticizing nor anything, I just think it’s a bit amusing. I am, after all, the guy who goes to the bookstore and walks out with Bret Easton Ellis and Superman in the same bag.

Anyway, I’m not really into martial arts but it was then & there that I couldn’t take this thought out of my head, that the book’s name would make a terrific post title, and hence the present post.
Only, not entirely:

Every time I come back from weekends at my hometown of Hell they show a movie in the bus. The ride takes about 2 hours so it’s pretty much the time for a movie.
The menu is kind of varied. Lots of police and war movies, some comedies, and the occasional oddity such as Walt Disney’s 1961 animated movie 101 Dalmatians.
The current trend is pretty much centered around movies with Kirsten Dunst in them, ranging from Jumanji to Elizabethtown. No Spider-Man as of now, though.

I think it means that life is trying to tell me a message. Synchronicity all over again.
I wish for this message to be, Thou shalt take Kirsten Dunst out to dinner- yet something tells me it’s gonna go through a path a lot more sinister than that.

…Either that, or just that I should let go of going back to that town of lost souls. Else that it should be b*mbed down.
Morrisey wrote a music about that, you know? You probably know it from 10,000 Maniacs version.
“Every Day is Like Sunday”…?

There’s this line in the song that goes something like:
How I dearly wish I was not here
In the seaside town
...that they forgot to b*mb
Come, come, come - nuclear b*mb

…Then I remember that I’m due back at that hellhole of a coastal town, the port, this afternoon, and I gotta stick around from today to Saturday in there, teaching this thing at the local office.
I mean, Jesus Christ, to spend a Friday night at the seaside town that they forgot to b*mb down.

Last time I was down there, it was about a month ago and I kid you not, there was this guy in the building right next to the hotel and he bred f*cking geese atop the building. In the middle of the city.
Damn birds kept squawking all through the night.

…And that’s why I had my crappiest shirts and shittiest underwear packed; what are the odds of getting laid in a dump like that anyway?
If I ever got laid in that town, I’m thinking, I would probably kill myself first thing in the morning, probably with a spoon, right after cursing those damn geese as usual.