Friday, April 13, 2012

Panic Now? Or Maybe Later, I'm Kinda Busy Working...

This entry is not for the faint of heart or those under the age of 24. And if you are very religious, you may want to pray first to ask for forgiveness for what you're about to read. You have been warned. 

Being marginalized seems like a relief. You know what they expect and you know how to be that and how to be more than that. The limbo pole is set; you know how low to go to make it just under the line. I think all of that sucks especially if you are an immigrant or a homosexual or a Muslim. Is something nice about knowing it?--like knowing where you stand, even if you stand 20 feet deep in shit? 

[insert Great White Guilt here] The straight, white, newly named "native" Americans [seriously, WTF?]--the rest of us non-threatening, un-threatened breeder honkies--have been spoon fed the Great White Corporate American Dream. Here, White Girl, here is what you [are supposed to] want. Now, go kill yourself to get this life and don’t think twice about what you really want, just do what we say and you will spend yourself into our complete control.

We have been sold the American Dream. The Dream has been repackaged every semester or so and they seem to shuffle where it sits on the shelf—but it’s still there.

My generation’s American Dream was sold like a pool party on the High School roof is sold to freshmen. And watch us all fall for it. I fell for it—just like the rest of you Suckers. Now, I’m on the roof, searching for the pool, I just realized that I’m fucking locked out, and oh shit, yes, I’m completely naked with a baby in my arms. Did I mention that GoogleGod is documenting, so, even from space you can see pictures of gullible, totally-fucked, little naked me holding a baby on the roof of a high school? What will I say when they ask, “How did you get here? What were you thinking? You have a baby to think of!!!!” 

I have a job. I am married. I am a mother. I have a car. And I have shelter. I breathe air. I eat. I have luxuries too, good food, gasoline for the car, cigarettes, cute clothes, shiny diamond rings.

If we worked through an American Dream Sudoku could we do the math? Can we solve the American Disaster puzzle? Probably not.  We are all fucked.

Do you know any person who's happy? Here's the rub:

1. Most people who say that they're happy wouldn't know happiness if they were sucking Happy off in the men's room. Submissiveness and complacency do not equal happiness; they equal ignorance. Can you have thoughts and a mind and passion and an equal fear of and respect for death/life and the government, and be happy? Is that too much to ask for? 

2. Who calls up a friend to say, "Guess What?!?! I am so happy! My life is great. I just called to tell you that."? Unless that statement is quickly followed by this: "I have become a Zombie! It's wonderful. A strict diet of moron brains and carnage. You too can join the Zombie Collation for the low, low price of your soul. You won't be needing that anyway, right?" 

3. Do you think that if you were really happy that you would even know it? (then your face will surely show it, if you're happy and you know it, clap your hands, clap, clap.)

I have to go scrub the congealed pork fat from the Crock-Pot because let's face it, we all know you won't fucking do it. Happy Friday. 

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