Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
stg-roadrunner-gfx
Friday, January 10, 2003

Cheap Lipstick

"Don't shit on me!," I cried at the goose flock wheeling above. The swarm honored that request, but that didn't stop them from hailing green eggs and ham on my car. That'll teach me to park on that side of the building. It almost makes me want to kill what I eat, just for the illusion of triumph over nature. Almost.

My fantasy of gnawing a fresh still-beating deer heart will have to wait. Photographs of me with bubbly blood running down my chin and a twitching artery poking out the corner of my mouth will not be taken anytime soon. When they do.. well.... let's just say I won't have to fake that smile.

No, instead I'll refrain from purchasing firearms and stick to the farmed meat. I realize that they keep the cows in factory pens where they eat, shit, breathe, and squeal during chemical growth hormone injections, and this doesn't bother me. I don't have to smell it.

I wonder about those folks that consciously decide they want to work at a butcher shop. For some it's a family business, but there have to be some people who woke up one day thinking "I want to chop dead meat." You know, people that derive satisfaction from rending bovine anatomy into separate wet piles. For my consumption, and yours.

Then there's the slaughterhouse. I imagine that some do this for economic reasons. Small town, two choices: spike cows in the skull and peel their skin with giant hooks, or swindle hobos for cheap wine and sneak up on old women and steal their insulated jackets. Do they hire immigrant workers to do this kind of stuff now? I'll bet the mop job there is awful. I wonder what kind of jokes they tell one another. I think it would be funny if they drank red Kool-Aid. Especially if they used that Kool-Aid man pitcher.

I should write the fellow who keeps the Theoretical Sociopath journal. He posts once a month, I suppose during library visits between victims and fleeing from trenchcoated detectives. I'll bet he knows all about it.
2:38 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

left-arrow Home

stg-shark
...And When I Die And They Lay Me To Rest, I'm Gon...
I'm Not A Sinner, I Never Sin, I Got A Friend In J...
Ain't No Mountain High Enough
Dear Oldies Station Hiring Manager
Sleep Well Minstrel Boy
Certified
Dear Vic Theatre Proprietors
Auld Lang Syne
Reprieve
I Am A Lazy Jackass
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
August 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
February 2008
May 2008
August 2008
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
December 2009
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
August 2010
August 2011
September 2011
February 2012
June 2012
July 2012
August 2012
October 2012
November 2012
May 2013
August 2013
September 2013
December 2013
May 2014
October 2014
November 2014
December 2016