POCATELLO, ID—Still surging ahead at full speed after 48 hours without sleep, local man Henry Britto spoke quickly with reporters this week about how he was riding his manic episode straight to the fucking stars. “Wooooooo! I’m gonna fly this shit all the way to the moon, baby!” said a visibly beaming Britto, his eyes dilated and his hands fidgeting as he paced back and forth on a city bus, declaring that he had no idea what was happening, but that he was holding on until he hit outer motherfucking space. “Who needs sleep when you’ve got a mind that’s moving a million miles a second and a bank account just waiting to be blown on fun, exciting God-knows-what? No court-ordered psychiatric hold is going to bring this space cadet down! Seriously, I could probably build a real rocket ship right now if I put my mind to it.” At press time, Britto had reportedly painted his house, written a book, started three businesses, and launched a campaign for mayor before crash-landing a newfound depressive episode right into bed.
Jesus Christ is King
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