Farewell Fortress of Solitude

I did it. I moved into town. No longer will I be able to accurately call myself a desert hermit, as I am now a townie in all respects. My new house has a fenced in back yard with a shed and a trampoline and a dog. The dog's name is Hank, and he has an interesting hobby of forcefully collecting blankets and rugs from around the house, which he then hoards jealously in what can only be called a harem, as he is seldom seen trotting from room to room without one clamped victoriously in his jaws, which he will periodically stop and hump enthusiastically. As I was moving myself in today he sauntered into my room, undoubtably in search of new girlfriends of the quilted variety, and disappointed with my available selection of threadbare rags he began circling my legs with one of his current flings clamped securely in his teeth and trailing behind him, where it wrapped around my ankles in a constrictive entanglement, as if he were threatening me to do better next time with my choice of thread-count and overall blanket humpability.
My new room is hilarious, having obviously been the lair of the previous owner's son before they moved out, as it has a flannel patterned wall paper and cowboy themed border. I think I will keep it up, as it will undoubtably throw any lucky young lady I happen to bring home into a lusty abandon. At the moment my furniture consists of a metal shelf in the closet and a standing floor lamp which might work if it had lightbulbs. Tomorrow I hope to add a bed or other slumber device alongside a small dresser in which my underwears and other unmentionables may reside.
At the moment I am virtually alone in the house, as my two new roomates Drew and Nick were asleep by 8:30pm. I did not anticipate that.
Nor did I anticipate the fact that the house does not have cable TV. Surely it is the only house in America to actually have had to act upon the plethora of commercials warning viewers of the switch from an analog signal to all digital broadcast television, as everyone else recieved a cable or satellite subscription some time in the mid-90's. It is with a heavy heart that I bid farewell to the Sunday night line up on MTV, adult swim on cartoon network, and all the other stellar programming available on cable television. Surely I shall miss watching underdressed skanks with obscenely fake breasts competing to see who can be the first to snort a line of coke off of Brett Michaels wiener.
As I have only just begun recuperating from my marathon drive home from Jackson, Wyoming; and I have a lot to do tomorrow before climbing work at 5pm, I bid you adieu America. Especially because I begin my Harley Davidson employment tuesday morning. We shall meet again.