Wednesday, December 9, 2009

I Want You On Top Of Me


I only have till the end of the song and there’s so much to say. Off to the left timber is cast up and beats tumble out of the speaker sending notices from the management. They don’t like it here. I don’t like it here. Here you can’t italicize for emphasis; can’t bold for effect. It’s hot and gets hotter the more I need cold - to warm my body before I fall asleep. There’s no place like home.

Keep recycling. Is that a pop can? Can I take it? Please, for the love of God, recycle that pop can. Oh, thank you. Christ, we need to get our hands on some cardboard. Ask that homeless man! Yes, the one with the cardboard! Please! Please! Thank you. OK, you take this cardboard and I’ll take the pop bottles. Please! Hurry! There’s only so much time before we can’t recycle anymore. Let’s buy some things to recycle. Into the 7-11 with you. OK, let’s see; here’s some pop cans. Let’s load up on them. 7-Up, Sprite, Pepsi, Budweiser, now off to the counter. Oh, wait, grab some cardboard: Jiffy Pop, Smores, Donuts, paper cups, matches, OK! Sir, please hurry. You don’t need to bag any of it. OK, 67.50? Alright, honey, give me that twenty I gave you earlier. Hurry! We need to recycle this stuff. K, give it to the man. Great. Let’s dump this pop and toss the food.

My wife is a whore. She’s been fucking them through the backdoor. I wish I could tell you more, but it’s safe to say my wife’s a whore. She keeps begging men for more. Can’t ever be sure just what made my wife a whore. But, if you know, why aren’t you saying so? I just need to ask you: how do you know? Did she give you a blow? Fuck you and Joe? Sell her pussy for snow? It’d be good to know.

We still have hope. Every bus that’s bombed, every tower that’s crashed, every ugly mug on the same old face day after day: we still have hope.

We’ll kill them all. We’ll find the thieves, the terrorists, the buggers. We’ll hunt them down and stuff their family’s body parts down their throats like oversized hotdogs. We’ll hunt them down in every alley from Baltimore to Brixton. Cut throats, slash heads, stomp bodies, and gut corpses. We’ll do all of this for stars and stripes, union jacks, and a “fleeting” drop in the market. We’ll burn corpses and rally around the dead; never again? NEVER AGAIN! Stack the car with stickers about unity around our hatred and fear, patriotism and men of one thought. We’ll devour you. We’re warning you. Our hatred is stronger, better equipped, and mass produced.

Really sad song about how much I love you. Really sad song about how much I loved you. Really sad song about how I lost you. Really sad song about how much my sad song counts. Really sad song about how you’re getting along a lot better now. Really sad song about how I’m drinking now. Really sad song about how I wish I could kill myself now. Really sad song about how you’re not listening now. Really sad song about how much I miss you listening now. Really sad song about how all I really cared about was how sad my sad song was.

Stack the kids in the car. We’re going on vacation. Start the car, bitch. If you don’t shut the fuck up I’m coming back there! We’re going on vacation. Did you check the tires? Fucking watch the curb. First on the agenda: New York. After New York – Brazil. Are the kids doing OK? Did you bring the Lunchables? OK, here we go. Almost there. We’re going to have some fucking fun today. Did you make reservations at the Best Western? The Hotel Pompei? The McDonaldland in Zimbabwe? Have we got enough gas? Fuck, it’s not a rhetorical question. DO WE HAVE ENOUGH FUCKING GAS TO GET TO DELEWARE!? Fuck that, we’ve got bigger problems on our hands: the tolls. Did you bring some change? Dear, did you bring some change? How can I put this in a language you’ll understand? ¿Usted trajo el cambio?

You think you matter? You don’t matter. Matter…matter…substance…something other than nothing. No, you don’t. You aren’t me. You aren’t even you. You’re nothing but…but…but..cobwebs, dead stuffing in a DEAD! Not even a note on a piano. A box of hair on the clearest highway on the way to nowhere. You don’t even count at a number convention. A nothing, zero, null, void – you are something that should never have even thought of being anything.

There was something special in you that everyone missed. It’s a shame that you’ll never be missed. All you had to do was say one word. And that word never came to us either. We’re sorry for your loss of sense of purpose, your directionless void. You could have been any of us. You could’ve shared something more than that empty face. But, you didn’t and we’re better for it. If you dared make us care, we might have felt bad when you left suddenly from our garden party. We regret your leaving and wish you the best. You weren’t For us. You weren’t even against us. You were you and we accepted your youness and sipped cocktails on into the night. We’d like to miss you…but, you know.

You: young, punk, rap, Tommy Hilfiger, MTV, White Stripes, 50 Cent, Walmart, Bling a bling a bling a bling, reality TV, talk show ghost, dead victim of ugly culture, wandering the streets looking for food, banging your head to Kid Rock, shaking your ass to Ice Cube, showing up at Taco Bell for a bean burrito, doing coke out of a hookers ass, voting Democrat, voting Republican, voting for class president, praying to God, abusing your body, denying anything you’re not told.

Fuck you: George Bush, Al Queda, Lynn Cheney, Dick Cheney, Cheney Stadium, Safeco Stadium, traffic, bumper stickers, blogs, internet, video games, television, advances in science, evolution, intelligent design, two dead in armed robbery, kidnapped anything, CNN, FOX, CBS, ABC, public access, Lysol, roadmaps, change in my pocket, this receipt from QFC that’s been hanging around my pocket because I’m too lazy to do the wash. Oh, and anything else anyone can think of off the top of their head.

Lonely side road on a dark night headed toward a camp ground in the middle of nowhere. You have to wonder what’s next.

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