BUSH lyrics aside, it’s the little things that really kill you. Massive onslaughts of human waves of thousands of foreign troops sweeping the hillside with their bayonets at the ready hoping to taste your blood? “No problemo!” Now try getting a letter about a past traffic ticket from two decades previous when you supposedly over parked in a waiting zone and int he interim that has grown into a thousand dollar bill and they are going to take your driver’s license away because of it. Your blood pressure starts peeking and your left bicep throbs like its in a vise grip. Bingo! Instant heart attack. At least cavemen could duke it out and release a little stress ands strain from the physical exertion of repeatedly clubbing a mammoth.
We have to hold our tongue and wait on the phone for scores of minutes after hearing a robot voice conduct us through a labyrinth that would have driven Perseus and his threads ultimate to madness. At least cows in the slaughterhouse get direct forms of physical abuse. We humans have to continually play, ‘nice nice’ or risk being outed from God given rights like electric service or the Internet. You start to get fed up and go around mumbling and scowling at phantoms. Everyone at work starts to avoid you, your spouse bitches that you shouldn’t give her a hard time which translates to, “get the job done one way or another but don’t ever stop smiling!” Soon everyone around you is now a victim of your ‘bad temper’ and you’ve got no one who’ll listen to your side, so you hit the bottle or hash pipe and now your on the road to ruin. Kicked out of your job and out of your house you have other barflys to content with who think that ‘commiseration’ means that you should listen to them sputter and bitch and fart. In the end after cirrhosis of the liver sets in and it can all goes nowhere further beyond Potter’s field or that big tank of formaldehyde at the university with your former fleshy domicile used as today’s lesson. All because someone tore the parking ticket off your windshield.