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Mind Fodder
Oh Mother I Can Feel The Soil Falling Over My Head

Typical Morning

In the slowly rupturing society of a broken conglomerate of cities and towns that stretched across the east coast like the beginning stages of some moldy organism growing along side of a piece of bread that’s been left out of it’s bag for too long, there was a guy. This guy was changeless. In the crisp, golden crust days of overachieving, self-important, narcissistic super people, he was as he is. Long has the taste soured in the mouths of millions of his fellows, but luckily his tastes never strayed far from the damp, stale reminisces of half-full bottles of beer and withering cigarettes. An occasional curry here and there spiced things up a bit, but strictly Asian, never Indian.
He woke from a shallow sleep for the 6th time since he first went to bed the night before. The room smelled of must and dirty clothes; no surprise seeing as a virtual plateau of unwashed clothes lay heaped near the side of his bed, threatening to become animate and haul itself off to eat the cat. Every morning he’d dig through the pile, disassembling the clothing monster briefly to have a look at its constituent parts to see if any of them had spontaneously decided to become clean. This was never the case. In fact, it seemed as if the cat was mocking his morning efforts by secretly peeing on various sections of the clothing monster. Obviously this was the cat’s vengeance for the creature’s relentless pursuit of its late night meal. But it was always the man who had to pay for his creature’s bad habits.
The plateau itself didn’t quite smell bad with just little corners of it being peed on. The problem occurred when the man decided to root around in the pile to find something to wear. This action sort of mixed the cat pee in with everything else in such a way as to be totally undetectable by the man, but extremely apparent to everyone who got within 5 feet of him. This further contributed to the clothing monster’s late night anger toward the cat because the man’s nose was now so far gone at this point that he thought he smelled some new sort of European Cologne whenever he got a real whiff of his shorts. And hey! What smells cleaner than some European Cologne?
So, their symbiotic relationship continued to rotate in its inimitable way while the world outside his door continued to strive to new heights and find new lows to which it could degrade itself to. It was all well and good to be a hypocritical, self-serving democracy that paraded value and honor and morals and good teeth - and great hair - but in the end, well … it’ll still settle for a few bucks and a ride. That’s all anybody is really out there for – a few bucks and a ride.

Posted: 05/08/09 at 20:04 (431 views)


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