Day 3660 of Quarantine. The notches on my wall are one and nineteen more.
While scribbling notes on my wrist, I looked outside, and saw the sky darkened with the hoards of Murder Hornets surrounding the city. Bill Gates has deployed his Nazi army to counterattack but are not successful. The Hornets have overridden city hall, taken the public servants hostage, and refuse to come out until they are sacrificed a young florist, with a taste for free form Jazz, to appease their murderous rage. Ring the cowbell; sanity is over.
HAIL CARONA! HAIL CARONA! HAIL CARONA! The words slowly repeat as they scroll horizontally across the bottom of every news broadcast. I rub my eyes, reddened by the abuse of electronic screens, and switch the channel. I dully changed each channel until I got bored and let it stop on the Spanish channel. Instantly, there were a rush of camera angles rotating around a mother and her son. Her face clearly indicated that he had just told her something incredible. Fuzzy flash edits and quick face zooms sloppily put together; it felt like I was watching something from The Sims.
Isn't this it? Sitting there and be slowly chemically castrated through convenience. 360 cable TV channels of garbage. Cheap entertainment. Cheap fulfillment. Cheap spirituality. They sell it on the corner next to the fake watches.
Everyone wants to go back to normal but there isn't a NORMAL...''BUT WAIT!'', says Becky, ''I just want my margaritas, my compulsive shopping DONE IN PERSON, my Chili's, my waitress job, oh, and Chad and those huge muscles. His tanned bod and heft cash; chiseled with the prospects of two kids (at age 35 or 40 of course) and retirement in Florida. The life chosen by me, me!...and my social security number.
Cool, Becky, I'm sure I wanna die in a sardine can as well.
BUT WAHT ABOUT MUH RIGHTS!?! Didn't they do away with that a while ago? Was it sold in 1830? 1877? 1963? 1965? 1973? 2001? 2003? Ah, I see. Now we want to talk about rights. A jogger is buried for two months while his killers are whistling ''Dixie'' over his grave before anyone notices.
I'm also pretty sure it was sold by the same people who disregarded common sense for their own security, greed, and convenience.
BUT WAHT ABOUT MUH RIGHTS!?! Didn't they do away with that a while ago? Was it sold in 1830? 1877? 1963? 1965? 1973? 2001? 2003? Ah, I see. Now we want to talk about rights. A jogger is buried for two months while his killers are whistling ''Dixie'' over his grave before anyone notices.
I'm also pretty sure it was sold by the same people who disregarded common sense for their own security, greed, and convenience.
Remember: Give your kids to the state, make decisions on unreliable information, sell off your elders, and let the justice system be privatized! Do what thou wilt.
