something else about hoagland, while i'm thinking of it: he's always going on and on about how something big is about to "break."
"i'm telling you, george... when the truth comes out next week as i proudly don my wolverine haircut and civil war beard from a particle-board reinforced stage at this bullshit conference i'll be attending in the ballroom of a condemned hotel in devil's sphincter, idaho... this thing is going to change the way we think about moon dust and such. be there at five. admission isn't free."
or:
"george, what the space agency has been hiding from us for so many years is going to change how we do everything from flipping light switches to picking at our scabs. the problem is we just can't get this bitch at the nasa receptionist desk to xerox it all for me. she keeps giving my team a bunch of "what have you." there is a chapter in my new book, space, anuses, and pitted prunes, on this very matter."
it seems like every time i accidentally hear hoagland, the few moments his vinegar voice is piercing my otherwise pellucid, brook-like environment are filled with suggestions of unsubstantiated conspiracy, conjecture, grandiose promises, and self promoting condescension.
in other words, i'd rather be eating my own bitten finger nails.
as you were.