People talk smack about others, whether to their face or behind their back. It's no wonder we have issues with people in general, the clueless unwashed, counting failures like sheep on sleepless nights. Fluffy white nothings are jumping over a fence, slowly disappearing into the dark. It's filled with the dread of strange days ahead. Heavy with regrets for days past the expiration date. Afraid of everything I do, think or say. Wake up every morning trusting no one except my wife. Why she tolerates me is a mystery, and I’m grateful for her trust and caring. Try to fail better all the time. They say failing makes one stronger, so they fail more efficiently. Being a loser is no small feat—easy money for winners playing games like pawns in a game of chess. Try to remember what's in a name.
I’ve no patience anymore for the stupidity of modern life's society of deaf, dumb, blind, mute sheeple. To gaze at their phones, grazing on fast food, addicted to everything that kills incrementally. The slow demise of eat, sleep, work, repeat. It's not hard to see the difference between the reality of what is, opposed to the dreams of what could be. The future arrives regularly like a healthy crap every day. It feels good to let go of all the bullshit that comes in the surprise package of your worst fears, where nightmares are a welcome diversion to the daily barrage of mixed media messages, designed to instill fear.
There must be a better way to survive from plagues of everything we can’t see coming, much less control. Become numb to an idiotic world of toil and troubles where disaster flirts with mayhem, chaos, and confusion. The Me Generation is now the Why Me generation. What have we done to deserve this stinking mess? Unfeeling gods torment pitiful souls wandering the earth searching for their spirit, claiming the rights of sound body and mind. New kinds of crazy make the scene surreal. We must be in some simulated bad painting or a crummy comedy horror movie of bizarre recurring nightmarish experiences.
Talk is still the cheapest commodity. The combined knowledge of the ages fits next to the angel on the head of the pin. Or a pinhead on a computer microchip. Now in barbecue flavor. They’re paired with creamy ranch dressing of the Buffalo angel wings and a prayer to the devil's serenity. The holier-than-you-crowd to share a group mindset. They can't bear witness to the poor, homeless, mentally disabled, and handicapped among us. It ruins their field of vision to view a street person shitting behind the bushes to hide their shameful, unnatural act. The sense of entitlement and privilege they flaunt in the pulpits and pews of the church is what I refer to as the golden toilet syndrome.
They’re deluded into a false sense of smelly insecurity about body functions regarding private or public displays of vulgarity. Who do they think they're fooling besides themselves? These sensitive, fragile people can't bear the weight of their faulty world. Misinformation or disinformation will not be missed or dissed, and our culture was canceled long ago like a letter with postage due.
You may say, this is how it goes. The way it works around these parts. Unfettered and free to pursue your wacky dreams in bankrupt thoughts shared on corrupt files of our hacked national shame. There are no secrets now. The rainbow is washed out and faded with loving hatred of the millions of bigots yearning to be free here in the stolen land of someone else's dreams. Who was it that said, "You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you can't fool your mama?"
A famous quote from yet another do-gooder who said something to the effect that people, "Well they ain't no good. No good for nothing. Because you are too old or too young or too fat or too slim or too ugly or too this or too that." It's always too much or too little. And the garbage heap trash cans of history are overflowing with all the love we heedlessly throw away.