Friday, July 30, 2010
Angry Serfs at the Palace Gate
Carrying red, white n' blue standards, brave men and chaste women bunch up their panties as they gather in small groups on small minded stages to tell us what we want to hear, what we need to hear. We know they are being straight with us by informing us it is not only okay to be pissing our pants over events that have not happened, but imperative that we focus on the worst case scenario even though a thousand other events must happen in just the right sequence first. They most assuredly will because weasel faced Beckomann O'Hannity media monsters insist these doomsday dreams into existence. For fear my quaking friends..... Fear will set us free. It will release us from the responsibilities of rational thought and productive solutions. Being scared shitless is so much easier than thinking. So much more convenient.
On the other side of the planet or somewhere in between, the other peons drinking the same kool aid only differing in hue are being rabble roused by similar dedicated demagogues sporting fancy turbans who have also assured their witlessly scared throngs that Evil is found out West in the Home of the Depraved, where the twin towers used to wave over streets dedicated to stealing their souls and ravaging their 72 Virgins. Flinging Fatwas like Frisbees they send their loyal idiots on missions clad in exploding vests to fill the Western cowpokes with dread..
And so it goes............The circle will not be broken.
Lucifer sitting casually at Day Trader Vic's in his power tie and wing tipped loafers again sips and savors the fruits of his labor wherever he goes. He cackles and rubs his hands together as if warming himself over the fires of Hell he has managed to visit upon all of us. The red dude sure knows how to throw a party even ithough the cover charge is more than we can afford. He has convinced us all we need is plastic and a low interest mortgage on our souls.
And while this world wide calamity unfolds around me, while the firestorm builds to planet cracking temperatures, I sit here in a stupor amongst the pines and deer shit wondering why I didn't buy that 18 pack of Rolling Rock when I was in town earlier.
Okay. Yeah. I will admit that the previous whatever it might be or could be or almost was --- is the result of more beers than my current tolerance level is used to. But hey there is a silver lining. I get to rationalize my earlier almost did it but didn't and now I have the excuse that being out of beer is a perfect excuse to take advantage of that $9.99 box of 18 bottles of Rolling Rock I saw stacked high as a giraffe's eye at the discount store in Sanford. There is such a thing as cheap good beer. And if there is indeed still the possibility of good cheap beer, all is not lost. It is not as bad as I thought. And even if it is, if the shit hits the fan this weekend, I will be able to quence my Hellfire planet destructiing induced thirst with cheap good beer. And that is what really matters.