Fed Up

I don't know about you folks, but I am totally fed up with the state of politics in our beloved country and the unhinged lunacy across our globe.  One question:  What the fuck is wrong with everyone??

I get up every morning to go to work.  I work.  Then I go home. I eat the food bought with my hard earned money and then I sleep.  Sometimes, particularly on the weekends I let my hair down (which the chicks dig by the way) and I get running drunk at the local watering hole doing my best not to be toted out the door by any women larger than me.  The next day I hurt.  Then the next day I get up and go to work again.

In the spring, I plant a garden and I tend to the delicate plants and by mid summer I enjoy the fruits of my labor.  If I have the desire, I launch my little john boat into the pond to do some fishing.  I usually don't keep them.  Sometimes I drag my 200 watt guitar amplifier out on the porch and and grind my guitar into the face of the wilderness.  I keep to myself, mind my manners, hold doors open for men, women, children, old, disabled, whoever.  I try not to speed, I am courteous to both neighbor and stranger alike.  I give money to people without the expectation of repayment.  I pay my taxes, I donate to charity, I cook food and give it away to the unsuspecting. I am not perfect, but I generally contribute to society in a positive fashion.

I have never cooked a baby in a microwave, strapped a bomb to a teenager and blew him up, overthrown a government, flown a plane into a building, hijacked a ship, refused to assimilate in another culture/country, incited violence, mooched off the taxpayers of this country, sold drugs to children, gone on a violent rampage with a gun, married a child, humped any kind of animal, participated in a trouble-causing flash mob, chopped the hand off a child, beheaded my wife, or convinced a kid to wear a bomb around his balls for God.

Hell, maybe I need to change.  Maybe my life is boring in comparison to the rest of the world.  Yes, I have dreams of course.  I want to carry a hot dog with me everywhere I go and photograph him in unusual places, like in the underwear drawer of a Victoria's Secret store perhaps.  The thought of a glistening meatlog in a tender bun next to the latest ruched-back satin bikini-cut panty is pleasing.  I will then compile all of these images in a large coffee table book called, Surprise!  The Incongruent Journey of the Wiener.  Or alternatively, It Looks Like a Dick, So Put it in Your Pocket, Pu$$y.

But these are simple dreams, dreams of a dreamer.  Maybe I'm not cut out for this real world reality of mutilation, violence and chaos.  I'm trying to do good and everyone else seems hell-bent on destroying something, but maybe that's because this is the way of the world.  Metals oxidize, teeth fall out, boulders crumble, old people die and leaves fall and decay. We are subjected to an on-going perpetuation of destruction and some are just more in a hurry that others I suppose.

Am I the outcast here?  Am I the only one left trying to make a change in a quiet and determined manner, yet maintaining a mild anonymity in the process?  Is it just me and my hot dog as the last hope of sanity for all of mankind?  Please say it ain't so because a man and his hot dog can only do so much for the planet.

And pretty soon, it's liable to just be me, powerless and weak, and without my beloved oblong meat pal.