So, I woke up feeling like a pile of cow manure. You know, the lowest of the low festering on the green grass of this blue sphere. I toss and turn on my mattress in my blanket cocoon trying not to make sense of the fact I’m still alive. That one existential question fondles the deepest parts of my subconscious: Dear Lord, why am I here? The creepy, grotesque hand of the Grim Reaper taps me on the shoulder. I’ve contemplated about the final drink with Ol’Death, but I’m not ready for the last good night just yet. Somehow, I manage to rise out of my blanket cocoon and spread my tattered wings for another try at the dingy, dirty, and mucky daily deadlock. Nothing like the long, strenuous drag to the shower to wake the hell up. The tepid water clashes with my skin to officially give my body the cleansing it deserves. I step out, dry myself off, and proceed to brush the 32 chompers residing in my mouth. My hair seems legit for the time being until I actually manage to go to work. Except I remember one important factor: I’m a low rate writer with occasional gigs, a few blog articles, and pays from the newspaper. Welcome to reality, jackass!
A quick look in the dingy fridge and my eyes are welcomed to the fresh display of nutrients to nourish my body for the most important meal of the day. Wait a minute…my feeble mind and gluttonous stomach deceive me. The fridge is bare and the only nutrient setting all alone is a six pack from last night. Shit! It was bound to happen, so I crack open a cold one then slap on the illicit boob tube for current events.
The news is a fast, hard, and sad burn this week. The lives of two children, a 9-year-old from Chicago and a 6-year-old from Louisiana, met the end of their lives thanks to the barrel of a gun. The thought flashes that these two rugrats didn’t asked to be brought into this world neither to be taken out. Hell, those little rugrats kept themselves occupied with activities like the rest of us, yet they didn’t know tragedy would strike. If the media didn’t cover the unfortunate mishap, they’ll be unnoticed lost souls with no one to give a shit about them. Without the small tidbit of information, it wouldn’t matter. Sadly, there will be more in the next weeks. In other news, a feces swastika was found on the bathroom door on a college campus in Missouri. Someone give that lunatic a Klondike bar. This crazy took the time to gather feces to produce a shitstika. That’s dedication! Racial tensions have boiled over at the Missouri campus in Columbia since the month of September, when Payton Head, the Missouri Students Association president, said he was racially abused while walking on campus. Well, Missouri Tigers, there is a crazy, anti-Semitic, racist, and feces loving individual running around campus. If you come in contact with this asshole, give a lesson in hygiene.
After that unfortunate incident, it seems the terrible times begin to roll downhill. France experience an ungodly bombardment by the terrorist group of ISIS. These rat bastards live, breath, and die for the chaos their filthy hands create. However, these cockroaches manage to scurry off somewhere to form the mythological Hydra: a violent beast with many heads along with an acid tongue. Even if you chop off the head, another ugly serpent noggin will appear. Kill the boy the head will die or shove a nuke up its ass and watch that ugly bastard explode into nasty chunks. These attention whores are calling for death, so why not answer the call and do the humane duty. I mean, we shoot horses, right? I’m not an expert for it, I’m all about the sociopathic attack and running off at the mouth for some destruction. An actual strategic plan constructed by the minds of intelligent individuals will suffice. For me, I’m all about a lot nukes; the fast and hard strike like an erratic male pornstar pile driving on every scene. Henceforth, paying attention to my ramblings will cause more side effects than the medicines force fed down our esophagus.
By now, I believe most of you clever individuals have figured out that I’m part of the problem as much as part of the solution. I’m possessed by my nihilism, sarcasm, and constant trouble by what I see or from the dark corners of my mind. I try not to be attached to society, yet I’m stuck here like every other bipedal debauchery. These incidents will leave a mark on us, but as a fact, we can’t give suffering any precedence over our individual or collective lives. We have to press forward on with things and those who don’t will get left behind to be trampled on by the moving stampede. They’ll only slow us down with their pitiful bellyaching. We have someplace to be and must believe we’ll get there, wherever that may be. Let the good times roll.