Furry Popped Collar
It’s not that I’m a befuddled, alcoholic, slightly confused douchebag, although I am all of those things.
It’s simply the existential crisis that plagues my soul when I’m forced to contemplate such visual stimuli that so shakes my world view. The troubling reminders of human futility. The sobering soul shaking disruption of any claims to importance and achievement we think we have made in this world.
That reminder exists in simple form. The Furry Popped Collar.
Six millennia into our collective transformation and ascension. Six millennia into the development of irrigation, medicine, morality, art, culture, society, literature, music, philosophy, science and here we are.
Beholding Furry Popped Collar.
Furry Popped Collar mocks our collective achievements. Furry Popped Collar laughs hysterically at our puerile attempts to rise above primordial base instinct and ascend to a higher plateau of consciousness.
Furry Popped Collar is the grounding force of real world actuality. The check on human gravitas and self appointed importance. The slap in the face, the dash of cold water, the sobering and uncanny reminder of the only emotion we should ever partake in when contemplating our role in the universe. Humility.
Furry Popped Collar allows for the paradigm shifting process of self actualization through absurdity. And so we should thank Furry Popped Collar. For it checks our intellectual need to arrogantly ascribe transcendence to the human condition. Furry Popped Collar speaks to us. It retells the story we need to constantly be retold. The folly of self aggrandizing importance. The reminder to be humble in the face of a cold and vast universe that spans billions of years. A universe that blinks once and we’re here, and twice, and we’re gone. A universe of Furry Popped Collar.
Or we could just call it douche.
