Technicolor Douche
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Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Politics Got You Down? Shmegma McWankpuddle and Clarissa Might Have Your Cure
Depressed?
Horrified at a world in which Bowie and Prince are gone yet Neil Young still lives?
You are not alone.
Take solace, my friends.
For this strange odyssey we call 2016 can at least be ameliorated by the shared experience. The abject horror of witnessing Malthusian dystopian decay, in real time no less, requires some theraputic conceptual release, does it not?
And so here it is. My humble offering of digital solace.
A moment that bridges the divide. An experience writ communal through the bonds of empathy, communication, and tasty snack cake products made by underpaid and unamused assembly line workers.
Perhaps it is merely a temporary salve meant to obfuscate the stark, naked truth of impermanence within this mortal coil. But it at least provides at least a temporary solution to the inevitable tragedy paradox, the byproduct of the merging of consciousness with mortality.
And so I give you Shmegma McWankpuddle commingling holistically with Pert Clarissa. For within this toxic cohabit, each of us can experience a communal revulsion. Her soft talcum booty sullied by tatted up upchuckery. Together, it becomes a collective illogic beyond comprehension. But our shared witness of this impossibility offers at least momentary alleviation from a world of insanity and illogic. For if you and I can both comprehend this neon titty twister of inanity then surely there is shared experience in this dark journey of life.
Let that collective revulsion be your soothing balm in a hottie/douchey world gone increasingly cray cray. It may not be much when dudebros roam the earth with giant beards and youthful communication is primarily done through the semiotics of emojis. But at least it’s something.
Friday, May 20, 2005Friday Haiku: End o’ Times Square
Technicolor Yawn;
Our Society vomits
Forth these rutting freaks.
