Wednesday, July 19, 2006

Chicks, cars, and the Third World War

I occasionally awake in a panic, chilled and shaken like my favorite martini.

Afraid, yet oddly unsure of what I should fear…

Perhaps mosquitoes and the vile West Nile, or Iraq, our feathered friends and the Avian Flu, Iran, lepers, Bush, rabid wombats, homosexuals, devious little dolphins, a genetically engineered band of devil-worshipping serial killers or a sasquatch type thing.

Or perhaps just the voices…

A time when technology and warning labels have made life simple enough for the most moronic to survive, even to thrive and advance to positions of power and fame. We really don’t need the looming doom of the birds and the African bees to threaten us, we seem perfectly capable of genocide on our own. God forbid someone should remove the warning label from the nuclear device.

Hezbollah and Hellfire, but someone find me a hand-basket.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

The Sanctimony of Polyanna

Four months in a daze. Eyes shut, hands clenched over my ears, and all the while singing "La la la" in the naïve hope that once I freed my senses everything would appear sunshine and roses. The problems of the planet proven to be no more that the result of some vivid hypnogogic hallucination. A paranoid delusion, dementia, or self induced psychosis I could cure by playing chess and drinking green tea laced with ginko biloba.

So I’ve awoken from my stupor feeling relatively non-plussed. Seems perhaps it wasn’t all just a bad dream. Still the same dark world in which The Merchant of Death, inventor of dynamite and weapons manufacturer, has a peace prize named after him and poor Vylacheslav Molotov has a cocktail for a namesake.

(Am I the only one still patiently awaiting an English translation of Nemesis?)

A world of joy and happiness. Sorrow and despair. Feelings and emotions. Fully treatable diseases of the mind – All you need is the right prescription and a willing pusher.

But how to medicate the mice? The newest plague of emotionally cognizant critters possessing the ability to empathize with those who are suffering. How long before we are forced to manufacture Prozac ‘n Cheddar infusions to treat a surge of suicidal rodents?

Ahh… Mollify the masses. Supply tryptophan for the soul. Let them eat turkey.

(Bloody cannibals… yet not quite anthropophagites.)

I tried sobriety for a bit. I found work to be boring, monotonous, and generally unchallenging. Friends seemed lame and vulgar and not nearly as funny as I remembered. Soft drinks were far too sweet. Smoking didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. And I wasn’t as brilliant and charming.

I fell off the wagon, got up, dusted myself off, chased it down, and burned the damn thing to the ground.
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.