Good news everybody: I’m no longer living in Rochester anymore!
As you’re reading this, no doubt many of you are momentarily throwing your arms into the air in celebration before thinking, “Wait, Peter was living in Rochester? Since when?” To everybody who did that, I hate you.
Yes, I’ve spent the better part of the last 45 days in the fair burg of Rochester, MN – home of the world-renowned Mayo Clinic and the somewhat-less-renowned McDonalds on 2nd street where I used to go when I was in high school. The city welcomed me back with open arms. Perhaps I should clarify – the bums of the city welcomed me with open arms and their beautiful mountain-love. It was a homecoming that I won’t soon forget, though I would certainly like to.
Anyway, long story short, I’m back. No more hour-long commutes to work in Inver Grove Heights. No more frenzied ape-riots. My Rochester experience is over. It feels good to be back in the Twin Cities, where my friends are, and where wizened donkey generals rule with an iron fist and mustaches like Stalin.
Truth be told, I have no idea what I’m writing here. This is just a stream-of-consciousness exploration of the flaccid recesses of my mind. I’m sure that all of you expect no less from the John Larroquette Project. I’m only too happy to oblige you with my tales of sorcery and horse-lust.
Oh, and before I forget to tell you, I sucked all the fluid out of a highlighter yesterday.