Why has such a billowing young man allowed himself to fall down that greased-up rabbit hole commonly known as chicken-shaped coffee can concerns? As bizarre as that may sound to you, I happen to be something of an expert on chicken-shaped coffee can concerns. I was a commodities wiz for several decades, made and lost millions in a single day at my peak.
But don’t let my obvious charisma throw you off the scent of justice, m’boy. Fads are fads, and you don’t wanna be the only one left holding your bag after the euphoria ends. Trust me, that gets old real fast. Speculation for speculation’s sake can be fun, of course, but why risk your shirt when a perfectly good bullion or two will do? That young man would do well to stay within his means, and not getting unnecessary credit cards in a manic hysteria (another one of my finer moments).
Buying 14 hoverboards might seem like a sound investment right now, but I’ve found a full night’s sleep before making impulsive decisions has helped me immensely over the years (to the tune of at least 200 grand). I realized that I had to take more preventative measures after that one time I plunked down all my liquid assets on that damn stadium (right after liquidating all my hard assets). I was genuinely screwed for years, considering that I got in right at the top of the market. So here I am, living on the catwalk of this blasted arena (well, just sleeping there sometimes as a way to impress the ladies), pondering all the choices in my life that led to this moment.
But what were we talking about again? Right, some young whippersnapper’s trying to beat the market by flipping bologna down there at his corner deli (yeah right, like corner delis exist for guys like him). You may think I’m out of touch, but you’ll quickly learn how overvalued being “in touch” really is.
Where do I even begin? Well, we stopped dropping the snakes down the hole and letting them just smack their bellies on the ground because this here sarcastic douchebag decided to get sensitive one day and say “geez, we sure do like hurting snakes!” We all looked at him like he had three or four heads, the favorite number of heads to picture an alien having when you’re gawking at this here guy who all of a sudden gives a damn about snake welfare.
They’re just damn snakes, they’re cold blooded. They’ve lived unchanged for millions of years now and they don’t give a damn about being slammed on the slab if it means we can sleep in peace. That’s right, sentient snakes who have been telepathically communicating with me for a good… seven years now. Wow.
So anyway, go on ahead with your little protest, we ain’t changing these rules for nothing or nobody.
—-TWO WEEKS LATER—-
BREAKING NEWS: SNAKES FEEL PAIN
Scientists Everywhere Urge Citizens:
“Discontinue Dropping Snakes on Slabs”
Jesus, what are the odds? We’ll probably never find out just how this study was started or funded, or how it coincided so perfectly with that sensitive douchebag making his impassioned plea down at the firehouse, but Sweet Lady Science has spoken, and we must heed her words.
Tempered by the blunt end
of a stainless steak knife,
throttled by a lack of anything
interesting to say–
say, how’s that weather?
Primary’s coming up,
don’t trust any of those clowns;
the whole system’s downright screwy anyway.
Can’t get behind those corporations
parading around as individuals,
CEOs making their dirty millions.
Can’t keep up this smalltalk,
I just want to scream
at those crows hopping
over there. Who told them
they could have fun
while I’m around?
I can’t stand it
when others enjoy themselves,
especially animals. I can’t
tell them off
like I can a human, not that
I make it my business
to harass people.
The closest I’d ever get
would be a stoic monologue
about the nature of the universe
and its tendency to dissolve
without a moment’s notice.
I can make many a soul
with that shrapnel language,
if you can believe it.