Friday, April 21, 2006

What the hell is with this boom boom music and herky jerky and going willy nilly around the everbeaten path; totally inexcusable nonchalance in responsibility toward penmanship and basic manners of wiping your feet, dribbling your chin, washing the steps of the outhouse on your way out with pine sol, I mean kids today, no respect for their elders. An example, today I was playing basketball, and as my fake hip slipped out of position and skidded across the blacktop not a single goddamm one of these young punks offered to pop it back into place for me or even pick off the scab the shift of which had caused the sumbtich to come loose in the first place. I tell you, it’s a dark orb this spinning vestibule we’re forced to call home, and if you ask me, the inmates are in charge of the Tupperware party, no more can you walk down to the 7-11 and grab a coldpack in peace, come back to the safety of your domicile and drain one after the other until you fall down in a wreck on the floor and smash a golf club thru the window in rage, NO they got this goddamm ACLU and Audubon society making sure you don’t hit any birds and aren’t keeping any political prisoners in your basement. Who’s business is it beyond mine what kind of bird hostage rituals I conduct? What the hell else am I supposed to do when the checks come back marked “bad” and the meat arrives from billy the butcher marked “good.” I ask you, I mean, I know yin and yang went out with the hooper triplets, but this shit is getting fucking ridiculous.