Who invented slavery? Is it safe to say? Don’t we know from distinctive carbon fiber evidence of spilled seed that it had to be an enterprising man of some means in Mesopotamia way back when? Like, duh. But, was he a knave, a scoundrel, a heathen, a perv, a dick-wad, a douche-bag? Was his puny brain fried over easy in the sun until it became too hard and lumpy to operate smooth and creamily? Women had enough trouble standing awkwardly by the side of their smelly, unsavory men while bending over and bowing down. Was it in the year 8888 B.C. during the Stone Age? What a hell of a hot year that was in the desert. Or was it a little man from a big clan during the next millenium, tired after a long day of hunting and gathering, understandably looking to settle down and live high with his hogs after digging up a bunch of dirt and coming up empty? A man with no pants or pockets to fill can’t live by sifting and winnowing though pale bones, sand, shit, and ashes alone. There’s no prize at the bottom of that empty box. Most studly clans won’t anoint loins for that, not with warm, soothing oil. Or was it a man from an up and coming tribe of filthy marauders during the Bronze Age, looking to make a big name for himself that would cover up the enduring shame he so acutely felt due to chronic overexposure from his small penis that would not stay put undercover? Powerful tribes were starting to grow too big for their loincloths back then. We know it had to be way before the Iron Age began and the fires started to burn and the heat ratcheted skyward. By then the business of branding was booming.
Why insist upon only one answer when all the answers are wrong? Where do all the unbalanced douchebags with pea brains get the marbles and balls? Was the box with no prize at the bottom once filled with sticky crackerjacks that serve as a primal sugar coated motivation? It’s so easy to point that long bony finger at the other side and wheeze, deride, dismiss, sniff, guffaw. Not just their answer, whoever they think they are, but your answer, and my answer too. Where are all the hot shit answers that consider the impact of what is either the second or third most basic building block of the multiverse, contradictions? If you are built for power, and not for comfort or speed, or even honest hard work, not to mention good loving, you don’t want to hear that your answer blows foul smoke that smells shitty. From deeply felt beliefs in the sanctity of a flat earth that began no sooner than the day humans arrived on the land in perfect condition, which is one bit of comic relief that allowed all the other animals who had been here for hundreds of millions of years to laugh a lot of their fucking asses off, to improvised comedy skits about walking on water, parting seas, ascending with heavenly fathers to fuck ethereal virgins in the sky who opened wide. What about that perennial joke that starts out with a Sun revolving around a magnificent planet that is the center of everything that matters and ends with a series of punch lines featuring uplifting codes of moral enforcement at the end of a spear, arrow, whip, stick, gun, rocket?
You’ve been wrong before. It’s not special. Wrong answers are the most common kind by far. Moses was wrong. Muhammed was wrong. General Motors was wrong. All the Popes were wrong. The drag queens and emperors were wrong. Galileo was wrong. Einstein was wrong. Khrushchev was wrong. IBM was wrong. Alfred E. Neuman was right. Why worry? What’s the big fucking deal?
Seven billion people are wrong daily. The range is overgrazed, the bubbles flat, the gases stinky. An increasing population leads to a greater number of mistakes made daily. One turd too many got dropped long ago. It’s too hot even when it’s not. You can’t get around it and you can’t get over it and it’s too hard to knock down. Butts are plugged and tails are wagging. Knots get twisted and wrinkles won’t iron out. Contradictions are the second most basic building block of the multiverse. Contradictions fucking rule the day and the next day. Species come and go. It’s not the first time. Count me in that number. It’s not the first day.
At the beginning of the Iron Age, there were 49,979,693 humans on Earth, a prime number. Then, along with the smoke, the mirrors multiplied. Targets, too. Now, Alfred E. Neuman, who used to look like an ordinary cartoon doofus until he become one of the hippest-hoppity rappers on the scene appears to have good genes for longevity.
The owls have watched it go down from high above, with fifty million years of sage experience as a guide, careful to maintain altitude while soaring. They watched humans march stubbornly out of Africa like lemmings, carrying flames at the end of whittled sticks that converted to weapons and became impossible to contain. It was clear right from the start that these nitwits would never be able to get off of the ground with such fat useless asses to lug around, the largest muscle in their odd bodies, and fly high with any rising consciousness, nor would they ever demonstrate the ability to astral travel to one of the spiral galaxies like NGC3314a and NGC3314b that shed so much illumination. And the wisest owls thought, as they maintained a distance, uh-oh, here comes trouble.
I have learned in my role as a willing traitor to my species while gleaning coveted information at the Thee Tawny Owl Institute of High Flying and Rising Consciousness that during the 400,000,000 years in which scorpions have been the champions of keen observers from the ground up, many other species were unfit to survive, and passed into vapor and dust, but no no other animal had ever previously set out to systematically destroy as a strategy to fit in.
I said to the tawny owl, “C’mon.”
“You can’t see the smoke coming from your house when you’re inside.”
I said, “Well, yeah…but…”
Later, I returned home to make sure that my thermostat was ideally functioning according to an algorithm that absolved me of all personal responsibility. I popped the top of a large bottle of the organic brown beer I brew beside my washing machine and listened to Otis Redding as he soulfully advised me to tell it like it is. I began to perform the modicum of a rudimentary figure-eight with my hips in quasi-motion, the most basic building block of the multiverse. I had long since been able to forget my foolish pride. That was the easy part. But, why don’t I know yet how to get unstuck?
In my state of suspended animation, which often took me in directions far out of my apparent way, with no opportunity for denial, I derived another answer. Sure, why not? Why not let a thousand answers bloom? It can hardly be denied that the useless gluteus maximus is the largest muscle on the human body. No need to fight or ask why. It can hardly be denied that fucking fictional virgins is a messy business. Why not add water, and let some shit settle around the seeds before digging deeper holes that require so much filling?
Why not set aside a time every day to laugh your ass off at all the mistakes made the previous day? Bar none. Every comic day a holiday
Why not start out by asking why not?