Archive
06/08/11
Pitchfork
Often, these hour-to-hour, minute-to-minute, second-to-second days (Unlike in my youth, when everything green was as good as gold), I set aside time to spectate/speculate/expectorate on America, Its chances of surviving its metastasizing obesity and greed, Its offensive, militaristic defense of its jingoistic execution of democracy, Its evangelical, self-righteous, exclusionary faith in Baby Jesus, Its gluttony for Monster Thickburgers, Bud kegs, deep-fried Twinkies, Its addiction to methamphetamine, Lipitor, Viagra, Ritalin, Pepto-Bismol, Its idol worship of American Idol, tattoos, Harley-Davidsons, NASCAR, Its illicit-sex-craving, Facebook-friending, techno-hacker texters Seeking elected office, from president to dog catcher to illegal alien.
At this flatulence-turbulent stage of my demographic insignificance — A bamboozling mixture of wisdom, cluelessness, and chutzpah — It makes little sense, less common sense, even less dollars and cents, To cut the static quo United States any slack-jawed slack. After all, my years in this "In Lust We Trust" cuntry of ours are numbered, Like the IQ of the average American, between 75 and 91, And truthfully (or, in Congress-speak, not), what difference would it make For me to articulate my opinions, given that I'm an imminent goner, To watch the pull-out-all-the-stops debacle of social apocalypse, To hole up in L.A.'s or Las Vegas's storm-drain tunnels, As a summa cum laude savior of the unsavory mole people?
Indeed, Mr. Rig R. Mortis and I will be old soul mates, by then, Immune to the consequences of bellied-up Social Security and Medicare, The uselessness of food stamps in porno stores and synagogues And made-in-Guangdong, "lowest prices for less" sweatshops. Whatever. Here we are, at this desperate precipice of self-destruction, Where hopelessness rides astride the Four Horsemen's steeds, Trampling the sheep in wolves' clothes, the pearls disguised as swine, And here I am, on blessed death's bed, tined to Dr. Kevorkian's pitchfork, Belching and farting supersized sighs of cosmic kamikaze comic relief, Realizing I'll never be among the seedy, gone-to-seed hayseeds Guaranteed to sprout Hitler-breeding weeds.
06/08/11
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