I totally forgot about this.  A long time ago, I found this program that would scan a text file and generate haiku from it.  I don’t know exactly how it worked; I guess it would find syllable counts of 5-7-5 in the text.  So of course, I fed Rumored to Exist into it.  It looks like it was a copy of the text from shortly before it was published, and not the final draft. Some of these are uncannily funny.  It’s like doing some Burroughs cut-up shit - some of it is hopelessly random, but some of it fits together far too perfectly.

Here’s the best of the output from it.  Maybe I should put this all in Helvetica and dump it into a pocket book.

I could feel the hair on my head falling out, my muscles atrophying.

CIA was outside in a van, or his phone was ready to give out.

I couldn’t even email her and ask if she was the same person.

He couldn’t bring a gun into a federal building anyway.

Uralic-Altaic and Latin American languages blended.

I thought it would be in Ohio, it turns out it was in Japan.

Klan was headquartered less than an hour from the governor’s mansion.

Nick told me about a version of MovieLine that worked for pornos.

Skee-Ball tickets and a Hubert Selby, Jr. tattoo on my cock.

I drilled her right there on the tile. Within a month, it became mundane.

I was so bored I masturbated to the JC Penny catalog.

Doctor McCarthy will see you now,” the nurse yelled across the concourse.

RM: No, you dumb fuck, I said it was like some bitch puking on your dick.

That’s been my breakfast every morning for the last decade, still is.

Carve your name in my brain if you think it will stop the fucking nightmares.

I wish it was a computer, but even my computer was dead.

They brainwash kids with angel dust, impregnated in blue star tattoos.

I should invest my money in whether or not I should take a piss.

X-ray comparisons between the Dark Lord of the Sith and John Merrick.

Bread, bread… Ghostbusters caught the holy ghost in one of those ecto-traps.

I finished the loaf of bread, and drank a gallon of flat Perrier.

Marco said. “Not the film, but a perfect view of the event itself.

I found myself in the men’s room of the DNA Lounge in San Francisco.

God would have to send back Ahnold to the manger to try to stop it.

They could even let the good guys win and it might be entertaining.

It would make a good recordable MiniDisc commercial, really.

And I had hours to find Nick and get back on a plane for New York.

Jed cracked open a cold one while Elrod, well, cracked open a cold one.

With my extensive studies in vomit, I can spot fake puke at yards.

Tito, reading from a copy of USA Decay. “Fuck!” I said.

It didn’t feel like skin-to-skin contact like the package claimed either.

I could grind them down and make counterfeit paper pulp in my bathtub.

Never give money to strangers, unless you know just how strange they are.

It’s like that Cheech and Chong movie where they had a truck made out of dope.

I shove the clipboard up his ass. Okay, so I have issues with UPS.

But I won’t pay those bastards at Time-Warner for their mind control.

I liked the Behind the Music on Ice-T though. He’s pretty funny.

I need you to go thirty clicks up the river and catch this frisbee.

I dropped a fiver on the counter for my drink, and ran for the door.

The human body is engineered to fail in an emergency.

I raped the cancer surgery reward with a Dremel moto-tool.

Leisure Suit Larry with a vibrating pager attached to your wong.

And you couldn’t sleep on the beach and bum tourists’ change at this resort.

I never went to class, so I’d have a lot of trouble finding them.

Outside, sirens were going off everywhere, the riot underway.

Peter Criss threw his drumsticks to the screaming fans in the coach section.

Plus when I wore it all day, I lost five to ten pounds in sweat. Nitrous…

Pure oxygen rushed through the nosepiece, and I inhaled deeply.

The Gremlin didn’t have AC, or even a functional vent fan.

I could pick up my paycheck, and I didn’t have a dime to my name.

Tito finally bitch-slapped him and told him to shut the fuck up.

John Voight would play the chief, and utter the “I’m too old for this shit” line.

With some napkins and a straw that’ll work in the ambulance, of course.

I’d break em in half on the first stroke.” “Dude, I think you’re fucked up,” Nick said.

Shooting Six People in the Fucking Face with a Bulldog Revolver.

I checked out all of those religious books and drenched them in human blood.

I asked about this, he said it kept the CIA from reading his mind.

Weren’t you born in like ‘61?” “Dude, I was there, but not during the war.

IQ test last night, so I know I’m not stupid, but it could be the drugs.

Santa Claus shapes in a piece of plywood with a table saw sans guards.

I’m gonna fuck him, and break that god damned gimp arm in half with my cock.

I pour gasoline all over myself and light myself on fire.

I pushed him, and watched him fall to his death. Then I went to 7-Eleven.

Man, and that’s why I kept setting off the metal detectors. It worked.

Her only piece of photo ID was a postcard of Niagara Falls.

I can’t just write “THIS IS MONEY” on a piece of paper and spend it.

I figured they had to use potent stuff to keep out the cockroaches.

I got the second one, and found the first, she could have it. She’s gone too.