abbatucker

Don’t you see what’s it’s like living in this deranged, Waring blender of a world? Every day is an agonizing ordeal, like balancing a pot of scalding water on your head while people whip your legs and butt. Ah, you never forget your senior prom. You think I’m sick? Well the only disease I’ve got is modern life, a shnug-busting gauntlet of inefficiency and misery that’s one long parade of letdowns, putdowns, trickle-downs, shutouts, freezeouts, sellouts, numbnuts, nincompoops and nimrods! All making every day as much fun as waxing a flaming Pontiac with your tongue! And even if you do luck into the possibility of some fleeting pleasure, like say if some nymphomaniac telephone operator with the muscle control of Romanian mat slappers agree to a little strip air hockey, it will be over before it starts, ‘cause some foul lacking, Feta-reeking cab jockey slams his checker up your hatchback and the cab is owned by some pinata-spanker from a Santaria cult who starts shaking chicken bones at you and gives you a boil on your neck so big that all it needs is Michael Jordan’s autograph to make it complete! And even with all this, with all this! I still drag my sorry butt off the Sealy every morning and stick my face in the reaping machine for one more day! Knowing when it’s time to flash the cosmic card key at those pearly gates, I won’t be in the coffin anyways, because some underhanded undertaker sold my heart, pancreas and other assorted good and plenty to that same Santaria cult! So does anybody really wonder why anybody is hanging onto sanity by the atoms on the tips of their fingernails, while life dirty dances on their digits, and is it really any wonder THAT I SEEM DERANGED?