what a load

I read the news today, oh boy.  Same old shit leading to the same old dumpster.  War, famine, pestilence, not all of it in Egypt, where another plague has been long overdue.

What a load of crap,  no color, no graphics, lots of shitty dialogue, all black and white, so blah and blah.  Where’s the fucking cream that’s supposed to be rising to the fucking top?

When I first began to grow up oatmeal colored in America, and still aimed for little more than the expansion of my dirty mind,  the standard history books I was forced to read maintained that America had never lost a war. God and destiny, it seemed, routinely intervened.  As it should be.

It was a dose of so-called reality that was supposed to be swallowed whole, not just by me, but by all the small, curious minds sitting at individual wood veneer desks with hands folded.  The required reading covered a hell of a lot of wars over a hell of a long time, wars that started out early and stayed later than expected.  Newspaper supplements were passed around and added to the experience.  At the time, I could barely count that high.

I think the hale and hearty English from that dank sinkhole they call home used to maintain exactly the same line of crap, until the crap became too obvious and started to stink like unflushed turds.

But now that it’s become so hard to hide what’s lurking under all the covers from so many itty bitty camera armed paparazzi, who swarm like bugs in the trenches, everybody’s laughing everybody else’s ass off, and the joke is no quite longer as funny.

American English is the only language I can read or need to read, and therefore the only language I have an interest in reading, but even in American English the current news I read about the wars we continue to hold so dear is hard to seriously stomach.   The same recycled God, it is claimed,  is still hanging around in the same full battle regalia, and still looks a lot like us, whoever we are.  He, not she, is leading the way.

Plus,  there is now all this new and even muddier news about our lovable wars that spews incessantly from spigots on massive television screens, measured diagonally, with unattached marionettes singing and dancing without benefit of rhythm or rhyme, as well as newer news from the gossip mongered on the revolutionary device for consumptive tools, the Internet.

It all leads down the same dark alley, I’m afraid.  It’s become too darn easy to get it up, even for those constitutionally neutered souls who can’t get it up.  You don’t even have to know how to read if you can fake it.  Just about any boob can dive right in and bob and weave and tread water without sinking.

Inevitably, now we all know and can recite the same funny one liner about opinions and assholes.  It leaves a sticky film that is hard to wash off.

I say what’s new about that?  Why not call it the olds?

I assumed, naturally, once I came of age and started to ingest questionable substances for the benefit of mind and body that there was a big lie lurking somewhere at the bottom of these rotting piles of shit.  The English, after all, throw like girls, don’t they, and stick it to wickets?  They stand straight and tall and proudly wear red so they can’t be missed.  How the hell did they ever get out of their own way to win so many wars?

The Moro Islamic Liberation Front, meanwhile, commonly known worldwide to loathsome speakers of guttersnipe English as MILF, rails against the injustice of  regular in and out breathing by pale and wan infidels, many who speak English only, and who deserve in the judgment of all those colorful MILF supporters a lot less consideration than that, or a lot more than that, like slivers of home grown Filipino bamboo under painted nails covering sickly white skin.  There’s some holy war for you.  Whose God can beat that?  That will cut off a hell of a lot of all that precious breathing.

Chimpanzees are the animals that most resemble humans when engaged in team building exercises on the battlefield, and would be a great test in a fair fight of who’s who at war.  I think that any self-respecting gang of chimpanzees could punch, kick, pummel and stomp any hapless victim just as well, and in exactly the same manner, as any gang of good old boys just doing what comes so naturally.  I don’t care what foreign tongues they mangle in the process.  I think those MILF mothers have at least part of the message right.  I’d buy a ticket to see those effete English fuckers fight a gang of chimpanzees without benefit of gun powder and swords.

This is a big part of the problem with news when evolution is so slow.  We tend to embellish our tall tales because not much appears to really be happening under our one small to medium sized Sun.   I’m not only talking about wars either, although I would like to know where we would be in our march toward oblivious dust without so many widespread wars, of which everyone knows is a subject that while the English may claim to have invented, is a topic about which Americans know best.  We’d be floating in some other space, that’s where, I’ll tell you that.

Ants are the only animals besides humans that wage full out wars featuring casts of thousands.  Ants can fight like rabbits fucking, and do it all night long.  Any ant would gladly swarm over any fallen chimpanzee like a hog on swill.  No known ant has suffered angst or uselessly asked why.  There are a hell of a lot more of them than us.  I don’t care who you think you are.

I think it may be time to follow a different leader, though.   I would not mind becoming a psychedelic sloth hanging by my tail from a tree, and feeling groovy.   Or one of those free fucking rabbits.  Or soaring like a red tailed hawk would be cool.

I don’t know why it can seem so difficult to say it loud and say it proud, “I don’t know, “ instead of “I know what’s best and therefore it’s your fault that I am going to have to kill you.”

I do know this much:  No American general has had near the impact on worldwide  history as James Brown.

Imagine if mere humans, who claim to be in defensive mode every time they charge ahead and slaughter some disemboweled loser, had actually learned to value proper defense over raging hormonal offense on a regular basis.  The only truly defensive war fought by Americans that I can think of ended before almost all of you were born.  Me too.  Imagine if humans had ever learned how to properly run fast, camouflage the birth defects of mindless aggression and breathe freely,  if they had learned how to swing like chimpanzees from tall trees and leap like lemurs with what we like to call spunk and savoir faire, learned to move like gases and liquids above the dumpy fray on the cold, hard ground, learned to construct homes above the ground and in the trees that focused on the maximization of swinging opportunities on a multiplicity of levels, from poles to rails to bridges, beginners to masters, learned to employ new and imaginative devices that maximized greater freedom in swinging above mundane drudgery and profit taking.  Now, that’s what I call some real evolution.

I’ll bet an historically swinging new aged animal, zipping above ground with free will attached, would draw different cartoons, tell different tales, mumble different messages, lick different lips, and sing different lyrics to the throbbing beats of different jungle drums, would have little or no need to incorporate the comically armed, spear chucking and lightning bolted Heaven of Moe and Curly, that makes humans so proud to believe their murderous ways are merely carrying out a master plan.  Then a dumb cluck like a plasticized G.I. Joe, who can’t even bend his fucking knees without cracking, might not look so hot.

There used to be a political party in the U.S. called the Know Nothing Party that was around before irony became such a big seller.  Now that we are all so universally cool, I think it may be time for a comeback.  Why not admit that you don’t know shit and never did.  Look up at the sky and at least concede there is more up there than you are able to see or perhaps imagine. Look down and remember to flush.  Admit that all of whatever there is does not include you at its center.  Admit that no bearded dude is looking down and causing either your wealth, your poverty, your failed erections, or the expanse of your stupidity.  Take some fucking responsibility for your silly self.  Admit you are making it up as you go along, in the vain hope that you can avoid being discovered for the fraud you are.

I know that I’ve never been much of a joiner in clubs and organizations and such, or one to squat like a toad in some meeting and wait to croak, but there’s a worthy cause I can truly get behind.

I might even wait in a line to join.  I know the least I can do to help is flush.


About marclevytoo

writer of fiction
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