In most beach communities there isn’t any centralized air to speak of because you live next to the fuckin’ beach. But, on rare occasions, the dizzying heat of the city will reach out and over these seaside towns like some unwanted electric blanket. We try to kick off the suffocating sheets, the cotton underwear, the layers of skin. But there is nothing you can do but sweat your pillows down and hope your wet bed will eventually cool you off. Last night, I slept with a twelve-inch fan sitting on my bed two inches from the top of my head. I sleep on my side, so, the fan reverberated into the layers of cellulose and into my cochlea giving it the sensation of a turbine on a runway. Sleep came surprisingly fast. I dreamt I wore a deafening hat of spinning propellers. I just kept yelling out, “I can’t hear you! I’m wearing a fan! What?! I can’t hear you because I’m wearing this fan!? I said I’m wearing this fan! What?!? Listen! I can’t hear a fucking word you are saying! This fan is too loud! I SAID THIS FAN IS TOO LOUD! WHAT!?!? DID YOU SAY, “START UP THE GENERATOR!!!!!!!!!”
Battalion Babbled.
There are lines drawn all over our society that we rarely cross. We have pigeon holed ourselves into small groups of like-minded thinkers because we love to hear our own words come out of another’s mouth. That is how narcissistic we have become. “I can’t believe they didn’t mention God in their speech! How could they?!” “I agree! They didn’t mention it once.” “I know! Not once did they mention God.” “I know! How could they?” “You have to mention God!” “Yep! God has to be mentioned!” “God.” “God.” “God.” “God.” “God.” “How could they?” “I know!”
No longer listening to other opinions, we regurgitate our own thoughts onto the faces of our silly shit talking cliques. We have become poop shooting soldiers that have had our ear drums crushed by the deafening dookie bombs that fly from our ever expanding mouths. How did this battle field become so god damn rancid? AND, why isn’t anybody really saying anything?
As children, we were essentially blank canvases with very simple needs and ambitions. I just wanted to play outside with other kids. Pick my nose with impunity and try to rub it on the nearest girl on the playground. Pretend I was O.J. Simpson (The amazing football player. Not the shrub jumping human butcher). And, to become the greatest nap hater the world would ever know! “OK, everybody! It’s nap time!” “Nooooo! I’m not tired!” “Aaron Douglas, you pull out your mat and lay down!” “But, I’M NOT TIRED!” “Listen, mister, you will take a nap along with everyone else!” “NOOOO! You’re not my mommy!” “AARON! GET OFF THE BOOK SHELF!” “NOT – MY – MAHHHHMMEEEEE!” BTW, where did the aggressive “mister” come from. What did you think, I was going to morph into some guy with a suit and 2.5 kids and a mortgage and a sense of shame for watching bestiality videos while making your life difficult? Listen, you bitch! Take your Paxil during recess and leave me to my Dr. Seuss books. Except for you, Miss Techovsky. You and your librarian frames can pull out the mat anytime you want.
But the uniformity of youth changed at some point. Culture stepped in and divided us into small battalions. My high school became a petri dish of burgeoning definitions. Let’s see. We became cheerleaders, jocks, trend setters and preppies. We slunk into groups of geeks, nerds, goths and emo kids. We joined the ASB and the Color Guard and the drama department. We found other secretive homosexuals to hold our hands in tiny closets and hid under football stadium bleachers with all the other Zeppelin loving stoners. Some became loners while others didn’t fit in at all. And then we discovered that hating every other group with a passion was more comforting than trying to understand them. We looked across the quads and the cafeterias with disdain and began our career as soiled soldiers. “Look at those burnouts over there. With their Black Sabbath shirts and their long greasy hair. I hear they go out to the woods and perform devil worship. They kill little defenseless kittens and rub the blood all over each other’s faces. It’s only a matter of time before they come for us and try to kill one of our virgins.” “Bro, you know some virgins?” “Well, not on the cheerleading squad, but there are few tasty freshmen that need a cock in their ass.” “Like those fuckin’ faggots over there. I hear they go in the band room during lunch and paint flowers on each other’s balls. And then they talk shit about God after they blow one another. I heard that they go out on Friday night and suck on horse cocks. I’m serious.”
Sadly, this was just the beginning of our misunderstandings. We are on an evolutionary slippery slope where our ears will eventually close up and our entire face will be one big mouth. Different social military divisions shooting sharpened verbs and explosive nouns. We slowly morph into giant sects separated by skin color, tax groups and political affiliation. For me, this is as ridiculous as a political rap battle debate. I don’t think this is going to be pretty.
Will the Democratic representative please step up to the mic.
Look at that tie. Look at that suit. Talking so much shit like you’re a poop shoot. You’re like a ball sack that will never have fun again. No one’s at your party ‘cuz you’re a Republican!
And now the Republican representative.
It’s all so very simple. Where do I start? Wasting all you’re time with your bleeding Democratic heart. My bank account’s snow balling, getting bigger. But you’re just another lazy broke ass (nigga!).
HEY! Take it easy! What’s wrong with you?! I can’t believe that this shit still goes on! “Sorry.” No. I’m sorry.
Roundoms! 