The following is a document found in the private quarters of former senator Robert Dole. Please do not try to interpret this material. In fact it may be best if you don't read this:

Sometimes we say things that make no sense whatsoever. And someone looks over and tells us to shut up. Maybe the feeling acquired from such an interim is one of embarrassment or possibly on the extreme level, one of loathe. Everything is relative. Many people say I have a way with words because when I speak, blood flies out of my mouth and messes up the room and the scenery. I wish that were not true but I must live with it. So many years I have pondered in my mind of whether my existence meant anything to anyone or anything else. Not me is everything else but me. Is not me more important that me? Society teaches me this. But for some reason I feel a need to break free and possibly (sigh) become the biggest thing in this world. Whenever I jump over tatooed-men wearing Descartes' muscle shirts I get the feeling that I am jumping over the power of God. That I am somehow intrinsically accomplishing something that cannot be accomplished by no other sane human being. I sometimes feel ambiguous in the point of having no point whatsoever. I guess what I'm trying to say is that two things can become three. Love is the outer world of past paranorms and the more we think of the idea, the more it makes us sick. I once loved a dead man; but it means nothing to me now. Was it supposed to mean something to me?

Fat is a substance most parallelled with that of a flying pig in a freak circus. We move through images in wave format and can't place our memory completely because it all gets filled up. Where does it go, though? It goes through the head of anything. But someone once said that anything can maintain a certain certitude of nothing. I can't exist if I can't shave my head twice a month. It all goes back to the idea that if you have human excrement on your floor and you pick it up and love it as if it were your favourite sibling, you have acquired the knowledge of unified hexagons. Sense and nonsense are basically the same thing. In a world where winter kills summer and summer kills winter, nothing is revealed to anyone. You many not think that you know everything but the harsh reality is that you do.

I am a sad person. And that's the best of me. The inbetween is everything and I tried to say that before but nobody listened. We love you and we shall maintain to bring you down. The love of God is nothing to us now. Here, we shall overcome anything and will stop at no means to do this. If anything makes perfect sense right now then it isn't what your eyes tell you.

Or is it?