in Massachusetts
April 8th, 2003
My perfect place is my own country. Its name is Gerrussia. It is located on my own island. There I am the Emperor, King, Czar, President, Chairman, Presidenté, Chancellor, and Commander-in-Chief. In short, I rule.
In Gerrussia, a towering mountain is in the center.
Pristine beaches stretch along endless coastline with sand dunes as big as a house. Inland, the vibrant jungle is teeming with life. Screams of monkeys and the hiss of reptiles is music to my ears. One could taste the fresh fruits. Humidity hangs so heavy it feels like walking through molasses. At the tip of the mountain, it is so cold it can’t snow. However, its snow covered slopes are perfect for skiing.
At last we retire to my beautiful palace dacha. Inside the smell of roasting turkey and potatoes fill the air. My endless collection of priceless German and Russian artifacts lines the halls. The cool air feels good. Dates, fresh from Egypt, taste wonderful. The music from the band is soothing. This is my utopia.
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