Hate Week. About fucking time.
Sick and ga’dam tired of dry turkey canned cranberry Thanksgivings and max out your credit, buy little Timmy another wasted toy to throw on his spoiled child Christmas stack bullshit.
Been waiting all year for this. A holiday I can finally sink my crooked yellow teeth into.
Got a death stick burning in the ashtray, a half finished bottle of Apple Jack in my hand, and the spirit of the season boiling in the pit of my stomach like a wad of e-coli infested spinach.
Cause it’s all out to get us. E-coli, transfats, peanut allergies, mad cow, diseased pork, beakless antibiotic coated tumor ridden chicken.
That’s right, Death’s got his buddies waiting for you in the cereal aisle of your neighborhood Kroger. And if he doesn’t get you there, he’s got a billion bomb toting wackos just itching to kill you and your’s for that express ticket to willing virgin land.
That’s alright. Me and old Apple Jack have better things to do than worry. Gonna get a couple of Apple Jack’s friends, gonna slap another ‘Save the Rainforest” bumper sticker on to the old Hummer, wipe the mud and soot of his neighbor “No Blood for Oil”, and hit the hi-way.
Gonna take a little road trip. Gonna see a bit of nature the old fashion way. Gonna pick up six dozen deep fried Big Macs with extra transfat, find a hunk of despoiled wilderness outside of Boulder Colorado and tear through that motha like a car commercial. Then we’re gonna come roaring out of the trees into some eco-preppy’s back yard, tear through the wall of his split level right into his fucking living room and tell him if he really wants to save the wilderness to get the hell out of it and move to a city. Then I’m gonna peel out of his living room in a cloud of black smoke burnt rubber and a blizzard of burger wrappers giggling and hollering out the latest hit from Britney Agulara.
Cause I’m sick of it. You can’t have it both ways. You can’t hug a tree without scaring the hell out of the bunny rabbits and you sure as hell can’t get closer to nature and stop global warming by carving a 3 car garage out of a mountain.
The only reason we even wanna ‘Save Mother Nature’ is because, after 50,000 years of getting our asses kicked by her, we finally managed to get her more or less in line. You might wanna save the rainforest, but the rainforest wants to turn you into fertilizer, and it’s got plenty of ways to do it.
Somewhere along the line, we forgot that Mother Nature is a nasty bitch, and she’s always looking to take a bite out of our asses.
I grew up surrounded by nature. It all either burnt, bit, stung, poisoned, or made me sneeze. Mother Nature is not on our side.
Guess who’s making a comeback? Our old buddy Cholera. You’ve probably remember it from some highschool Dicken’s novel somewhere. It’s always mentioned in passing tones of horror and dread. Those old novelists don’t really talk about what it is. I’ll enlighten you.
Cholera’s an intestinal disease you get from drinking shit laden water. Basically, some well somewhere gets shit in and these little bacterial beasties procede to infect everyone who drinks the water. These lucky nature lovers shit blood and intestinal tissue for a couple of days before dying of dehydration.
Thank you Mother Nature, you bitch.
But we don’t want to think about things like that do we?
No, of course not. We want to ignore the horror that waits outside our gated strip mall communities and instead we spend our days cursing the civilization that pried this little corner of safety from Mother Nature’s bloody claws while we watch Paris Hilton on “E True Hollywood Stories”.
Say it with me.
Paris “I’ve Got a Billion in the Bank and You Watched My Sex Video on the Internet” Hilton.
God bless you Paris Hilton, you stupid spoiled whore. God bless you for making it apparent that our society is too fucked up to exist.
Because friend’s, we deserve anything we get just for giving a damn about Paris Hilton and how much coke/cock/money she snorted/gobbled/made last night.
The sons of this country wank off to pictures of her while our daughters are throwing up in the bathroom at a ‘hook up’ party trying to figure out how they can be more like her.
This is our future.
Meanwhile, in back woods Arabia somewhere, a mother is telling her son that The Great Satan is the reason he isn’t getting laid and that it would make her proud if he’d just put on a bomb vest and climb on to that school bus.
Oh yeah, we’re ready for this fight.
“Oh my gawd, these jeans my me look, like, sooooo fat.”
“Allah Akbar! Boom!!!!”
John F. Kennedy.
George W. Bush.
Two of these things are not like the others.
You get the leaders you deserve and apparently our country, a country once blessed by some of the greatest leaders in history, now deserves either a lip biting, bullshitting, sexual deviant, or a frat daddy gibbering idiot running the whole ga’dam show with a magic eight ball.
So when ABC breaks into that episode of the OC you’ve soooo been waiting for to let you know that the whole pile of shit is finally going up in flames, don’t bother calling me because I already know the shot.
No virgins waiting in heaven for me. I’ll be hauling ass home to throw up one last Strangelands post and google Paris Hilton’s home address.