Friday, September 4, 2009
My self esteem cowers in desperation, in fear of snake oil salesmen and the magicians of penile enlargement mind fucking me with slight of hand and ninja attack advertising. Banners litter the sky chasing Duct tape repaired aircraft as my windshield wipers file away handfuls of business cards and the door knob to my house greets me dressed in a suit of buy one get one fliers. My computer coughs the dying phlegm of viruses stealing my identity, as fictitious James Bond cure alls beg to be downloaded into a holocaust of digital malintent.
And you wonder why we are wading in a shit storm of dept. Credit cards sugar glaze a ham of greed allowing the false security of a reality television lifestyle. Keeping up with the Jonses has become a Knife Fight of social class approval where the lost blood of our rivals falls short of a credit score acceptance. The positive image of a healthy household is blinded by the shine off the hoods of over financed vehicles perched like trophies in our driveways. As dysfunction brings better ratings then answers and solutions my spare rattles helplessly fading in my pocket.
Long gone are the days of sensory deprivation, and here to stay are the days of oral on aural mass media over stimulation. It makes you wonder; how the fuck could you not have A.D.D.