Buy smart, buy North Korean.
A stream of consciousness pours into a bowl, I put it away and re-join the game of king of the intellectual mountain (already in progress)
I can’t really think of anything interesting or poignant to add…
So I lose. To you. In a landslide.
It figures.
I’m relegated to the corner and I have to try to and make small talk with an angry husband.
The guy who saw “Raging Bull” and decided he had found a new role model.
He’s convinced I fucked his wife and asks me the same question forty different ways, hoping for a different answer.
Convinced.
I’m deflecting the tiny white spit droplets as he slips into a walking cave man coma of anger, and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.
It looks funny to me, but everyone else looks a bit saddened, as they begin to pay closer attention to the drama unfolding before their eager eyes.
They even gave us one of those portmanteaus. We have officially arrived.
The stinging has become more acute.
And god damn, the guilt is like a garbage bag full of water.
You can never realize how heavy it is until you try taking it with you wherever you go.
It’s like watching the big soap opera scene that you happen to catch every single time it’s on.
The one where she’s been fucking his brother, who’s a ghost, and then they cut to one of the two parallel plot lines developing loosely in this above average daytime television show.
No one can really remember whos fucking who and who’s alive or kidnapped or imagined or back from the dead, who cares?
It’s cheap, poorly shot, poorly executed, emotionally immature, hyper dramatized, awkwardly lit drivel.
Life imitating art imitating death imitating a television show.
The sincerest form of flattery is a secret amongst the gossip hungry cunts surrounding the fleshy robot television sets.
They lost a lot of weight. They’re on drugs. What kind of drugs? Dirty drugs. The dirtiest kind. The worst kind, and now they’re fat. They’re depressed. They’re cheating. He beats her. She’s money hungry. They’re swingers. She uses alimony to buy expensive underwear. He told everyone. Their friends are worried. Blame is exacted. People are disposable.
The daily displays of human misery are starting to become too predictable to even laugh at.
We’re bored, which is why we start watching daytime television, which is why we’ll stay bored, which is why we’ll convince ourselves that fucking someone else is the answer to all of life’s problems.
Everyone’s a winner. You’re a rock star. You’re an actress. You’re an athlete. You’re a millionaire. You have perfect tits. You’re hung like a porn star. You light up the entire room. You can afford a medical procedure that will ACTUALLY make your shit not stink. Your parents will never die. Your wildest ambitions will be realized with minimal effort.
They don’t call it living the dream for nothing.
I’ll see you at 2pm EST you big, steaming pile of never ending entertainment, you.
