17 September 2014
Wrinkled, brown, old and bitter
Reading news feeds on the shitter…
My perfect epitaph, and what a final exit, no pun intended. Not so glorious, I know. I won’t witness my last moments in heat of battle in some distant, tropical quagmire, or just before making the cut on the Administration’s Kill List for being a thought criminal. No, what better fate to suffer than at the hands of my Feedly reader, a shoddily cleaned porcelain bowl, and the latest and greatest from Zerohedge, while my Google Goggles records my dead carcass emptied of rage and fecal matter for the NSA?
You see, it’s stressful to “care”, and more so, showing the world you care by being a writer. Just ask Eric Blair or Ernest Hemmingway. Most people, if, at best, 90% of humanity, has taken the high road and completely stopped giving a shit about the eminent nuclear winter lurking around Fukushima, or that countries around the world are divesting from the US dollar while America brainstorms, sans brains, how to put out that fire they started in the already sweltering hot Middle East. Writers write because talking in a bar about Brussels’s latest ban on high-powered vacuums does not get you any pussy, but it could get published in an insightful periodical on the internet, which could then lead to getting laid.
Speaking of pussy, if the average person is going to go through the trouble of finding information, it better have a fluffy cat pic attached to it.