“When you’re hot you’re hot and when you’re not you’re not.”
— Jerry Reed
Everyone I know is so hand-wringing miserable, and so miserably mad all the time now, and for good reason. We’re all broke, in all the ways a person’s person can be broke, financially, physically, mentally and spiritually, and hey whatcha gonna do about it, huh? We don’t have no power, no guidance, no benefactors, and just one guarantee — you shit your pants when you die and whatever dividends you have will be stolen off you by your own cronies! Snatched away as they flee from your carcass for the shadows to await their turn to accept the kiss of death! Wee-hoo! Welcome to America in 2017 buddy! The single dumbest, grossest country on Earth! And whatcha gonna do about it, huh? America has always been dumb and gross, and the last time I peeked out from underneath my rock to catch a glimpse, I saw it ain’t gettin’ no better for nobody anytime soon!
Yesterday, the woman who lives across the street from me was sitting on her stoop alone, and through a vale of tears she yelled out to no one, “I can’t do it any more. I can’t do everything for every goddamn one of you, all the goddamn time, I just can’t.” And at the exact moment of this woman purging her soul of pain, a man on a neon-green Spree and wearing a complete suit of matching neon green, from his helmet to his Crocs, went speeding down the road like a filthy, little razor slashing the potency to gore! I ran like a husky, free of the sled, back inside my shack and locked the door!
Truth and horror on a Saturday afternoon — my first full day off of work in weeks! Blathering-blatherskites! The madness! The unfettered insanity of trying to keep your lights on in the poisonous bosom of crackling capitalism! Is anyone having any fucking fun… well, except the Koch brothers, who are, at this very moment inside a subterranean high-tech torture dungeon five miles below the Earth’s surface and smothering to death the last unicorn with a pillow made of dodo feathers. Oh them boys and their high jinks! Misery, madness and malfunction! The battering ram and the door! Both become mulch, eventually, I do suppose. I used to know these two ol’ boys who had pledged their allegiance to whiskey, both dead now, and who used to share a closet over on Walbash, just big enough for both of ‘em to stretch out on the floor, two sardines short of a full tin! They cooked their meals in a coffee pot, and threw their garbage out of the sole, drapeless window, and they were happier than everyone I currently know! Oh them boys had themselves a time! Almost all of which involved debauchery that is too festering with real life to be printed in 2017, because 2017 doesn’t like such filth, oh no!
The antics and words of the poor are too raw, too real and too splendid for the likes of 2017 — these flat screen people living flat screen lives! But whatcha gonna do, huh? Being flat is trending! Being an uninteresting slab of tofu is hot! I can not wait to not read your blog! Weeks ago, I wrote a column about a Cowabunga Teenage Dad! Tore it to ribbons! It was too real. And the week before that I wrote about the trajectory of a young hoodlum I know, his birth, his come up and his downfall, but I burned the whole manuscript! It had too much blood beating through it’s heart, too many cops beating the teeth out of people for the likes of you! Poor people are offensive! Oh they say and do such awful, awful things, so you have labeled them “problematic” and have purged them from your sight!
Wee-hoo! Flat Life!
Your waterfall of compassion is currently blasting them in the face with such force they will never rise beyond the gutter! Hallelujah, Lena Dunham! So we wait for the “real” brainiacs to suss all this shit out! Ha! As if ever! No, the screams from the public pit will continue to grow until Mother Nature finally extracts her revenge and destroys us all, Thunderbird and Whale style! That, or Kim Jong-un sets the fire off! Wee-hoo, when you’re hot you’re hot!