My day has been along the lines of The Flaming Lips “Bad Days” song. Yeah, that’s right mothafucka’s I’m comparing a daily experience (my daily experience) to music. So, go ahead force on your skinny jeans, ironic t-shirt and simmer the fuck down before you hastily judge me. Hell, in our ironic self doubt maybe we could ride our bikes and talk about trees and love and vegans. I might make fun of you, but only with loving subtle stabs.
Power. Money. Sandy beaches and Lips.
Power: I walked out this morning/afternoon to a cop writing me a parking ticket. Yeah, I saw him. I approached my car, he looked at me, pressing his fingers firmly on his electronic ticket-spitter and tucked the ticket under my windshield wiper and walked away. Thanks. I don’t fucking care about rules, and so I’ll pay for it. In my half dazed state, I know I gave him the “If-I-suddenly-had-a-superpower-for-one-minute-I’d-laser-beam-you-with-my-fierce-laser-gaze” look. Alas! Don’t worry, the gaze wouldn’t kill him, just temporarily knock out memory and thus allowing me to successfully avoid the parking ticket and continue breaking the “rules.” So Power. Intangible. I dislike it. I think about Foucault’s adaptation of Bentham’s Panoptic Prison. Power, when used wrongly, in the metaphor of society being like a biological organism, is degenerative.
Hey Nerds! Go here--->http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panopticon
Money: Dear Alumni: Please stop yelling at me when I’m using my nice voice to ask you to help with scholarships. I don’t like being yelled at. I hate my nice voice. But, you see, I will use it anyway. I don’t have any money either. I don't have scholarships. I don't have a B.A. yet. So you and you’re four or five year committed partner, Bachelor degree can go sit under a tree and cuddle. Bachelor probably gives you backrubs and paychecks. So. Just, please, for the love of all things holy (or not holy) just stop yelling at me. Please. Stop. Yelling. It makes you look like an inconsiderate asshole that humanity wipes itself clean with.
Moral is, well, that there, wait, what? There is no morality? Well, shit. Moral is Corona tastes like piss. Or what I’d imagine piss to taste like. A sick person’s piss. Disgusting piss. I would not want to drink Corona sitting on a white sandy beach, despite what your marketing techniques tell me.
But. As The Lips tell me, despite the lack of sandy beaches and beer that tastes like hypothetical piss, the yelling and the lack of cuddling with Bachelor, the bad days will end. Thank you.
1 comment:
"Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?"
"KNOCK THEM OUT WITH MY LAZER VISION!"
Good answer!
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