They sailed away in a big cliché, to a land where a donkey goes...

In which your humble narrator declines to smell a donkey.

On today's public radio edition of the Liberal Mid-Morning Middle-Aged Ladies' Lifestyle Hour (LM-MM-ALLH) they're having yet another guest who has made the boldly innovative decision to abandon the fetid stench of the metropolis and move out to the Real America where things are all simpler, purer, more rural and everything is positively saturated with greater meaning. She lives on a farm and writes about it and stuff.

YAWN.

I've decided that I'm going to adopt the outlook that living in a 1948, post-war, ticky-tacky house on a nondescript boulevard in a relentlessly middle-class urban neighborhood confers upon me a penetrating insight into the human condition. As such, every single economic and lifestyle choice I make becomes a part of the narrative of my own personal specialness. Applications for "cult-like followers" will be accepted.

Also, this woman on the radio said she "loves to smell her donkey." 

That's messed up.