Sons of pioneers are hungry men: a sloppy typecast on a rickety machine

Typecast: not hung over

Twenty twelve-year-olds and a typewriter

What happens when you get a bunch of twelve-year-olds around a manual typewriter? It's not quite an infinity of monkeys . . .

Something about Sundays

I know I'm posting this two days late but you can always wait five more days to read it . . .

Between the iron gates of the school, the seeds of my authority problems were sown: a typed rant

For those of you who catch the King Crimson reference in the title, I call your attention to the line further on:
"The fate of all mankind, I see, is in the hands of fools."

I no longer feel any personal enmity towards Mr. Contract, but I wonder how much he got paid for wasting so much time.

Typecast: nifty Mellotrons, cruel Fortune and fickle Fame

Late New Year's post