Gremlin Football and Glacial Cities

   
   "Gremlin Football and Glacial Cities"
    
   I hear six man football is big in Montana, the last great place.  Especially for kids.  Good odds for a scrambling quarterback.  Think:  Roger the Dodger, Flutie, and Steve Young gorgeously driving the 49ers and their gladiatorial gold quest, emasculating Montana to become a ghostly memory, and a Chief for a bit.  You cannot pour new wine into old wine-skins; the old wine-skins will burst open, unable to contain it--might say a Living Christ.  
   Anyway, living in this American Police State where the government monitors everything, furthering personal paranoia, and with a gore-guilty, yearly slaughter of the coyote that ranks in the myriad range--I dream of Canada for the occasional escape.  Alaska is a Free State with its grass stations and a former politician armed with nice ta-tas.  But with the disappearance of all the people and the FBI called frequently to interview interstellar travelers--too much for me.  Unless I could muster a brass scrotum and shoot a moose; plus, spell my name in the snow with a protracted piss that glistened golden.
   So, a glacial city in Canada.  They have football.  Next, maybe beyond the tree line, facing the divinity of the Northern Lights, and a mad hermit's cabin containing nothing that needs Bluebeard's wife to cruelly unearth, for friends will share.  I can't make friends.
   Maybe then, the Pacific Northwest, where Free States bless America.  A more frigid soil to grow the grape.  
   Watch the news.  Find true melancholy.  A pharmacist can't make a pimento-cheese sandwich anymore--what good are they.  A wise sage kinda/sorta mentioned that and PLAYBOY has finally approved.  How nice to see lace over the fishy labia.  They have edible panties; plus, they have those with odor shields.  How nice to live in America.