It’s been very clear that these essays have become a bit academic. Which is fine, but I don’t feel like breaking open a web search page and looking anything up. I am going to take the clothes off of my brain and go sans brain sack! Who needs to keep their brain in a cellophane zip bag when I could let it fall right out of my nasal cavity and onto this blog? Me. That’s who. So, without further ado… Start Up The Generator!
Well, shit. I guess I will have to give up my bomb making and pot smoking class at the adult learning annex. Let’s define these two foes before we get on with it. I guess we all know what “divorce” is. Half of all of our parents have been divorced. Or is it half of all the married couples? Which half? And what parent? For me, the bottom half of my dad was divorced from the top half of my mom. My dad used to sit and eat dinner at the dinner table, but his bottom half had remarried and was living in Barstow, or some crappy place like that. My poor mom’s bottom half just stood there. “Hey, Ma! Say something!” But not a word. Though, on occasion, she would do The River Dance. She was half Irish. Apparently, it was her bottom half.
So on to the divorcee. Cellulose: “An insoluble substance that is the main constituent of plant cell walls and of vegetable fibers such as cotton. Paint or lacquer consisting principally of cellulose acetate or nitrate in solution.” OK. So, its essentially everything but metal and plastics. Though I used to own a load of Heavy Metal shirts that were made of cotton, so that’s a hybrid I guess. BTW, I’m always amazed at the aggression of plant life. At my apartment there is this Bougainvillea bush that is attacking our garden and has decided it wants the other side of the walkway. Just a couple of days ago a single branch broke free and now hangs out eye level in a sudden reach for the grassy part of the front yard. This branch has inch long thorns and dares anyone to try to dissuade it’s plans. The branch is pretty thick and you can’t just grab it and break it off unless you want some interesting stigmata marks. I stop and look at the whole bush, which has definitely doubled in size in the last six months. “Look at you, you greedy bastard. All this space, but it’s still not enough for you. You’re killing the birds of paradise! Don’t you like birds? Me neither. Especially Pigeons. Man, I hate those flying rats. If people weren’t always looking, I’d kick the shit of them with my steel toed pigeon mangler! Those aren’t songs they’re singing, you know. Those are battle cries. Warnings from the sky. Death from above. And furthermore… Hey. Aw, God damn it. You got me monologuing! That’s it, Bougainvillea. I’m grabbing the biggest knife I can find with a serrated blade! I hope you bleed more than that teenager I had last night” Oh. Hi, there. I’m sorry. Where were we?
So, let’s divorce some cellulose, shall we? Let’s start with this: “I don’t eat vegetables, bro. I don’t eat fruits either. I’m a strict meatatarian. It doesn’t matter what it is either. I’ll eat a baby lamb, an old horse, or a small beaver. I ate your sisters beaver last night! Hahaha. JK, bro. Listen, you shouldn’t have brought your kid over here. This is a porn ready bachelor pad, bro. This is no place for a child. Plus, he is starting to look delicious.”
OR, we could divorce marijuana. “Listen, Mary. I’m done with this relationship. All we do is hang out at home. We never go out anymore. I hate Funyuns. No, I do. I just ate them because you liked them. And Captain Crunch? Bella, you are a grown woman. You shouldn’t be eating Captain Crunch on a daily basis. Look, Mary, it pains me to say this but you have gotten huuuge. Have you seen the indention in our bed? I have to anchor myself to the corner by white knukling the edge of the mattress or I risk losing another limb. Remember my right arm? I certainly do! AND, I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen your vagina in months. No! I just throw my penis down there and hope I find a crease! The other day I found a midget down there, Mary! A midget! No, it wasn’t just a quiff! It was a full-sized, half of a full human. Wait a minute, was that your ex-husband?”
Technology is our biggest home wrecker in these modern times. When was the last time you wrote a letter, a check, or an essay, for that matter. Writing is putting pen or pencil to cellulose and then licking the sticky cellulose on the edge of an envelope. OR, binding cellulose to cellulose with some colored cellulose on a thicker cellulose that ancient people call books. There is no need for cellulose as we read our Kindles and thumb our iPhones and flip open our laptops. We all go (ironically) green as we are emailed our bank statements and porn subscription bills and notifications that we have a new follower on Twitter. Which, I guess, we where all trying to do anyway. Paper companies were destroying the rain forest, but now, they can’t even destroy their unemployment papers with a few tear drops. Sorry, Herman, but cellulose isn’t water-soluble. And no matter how disgusting your crying is, those papers are not going to disappear anytime soon.
All right. So we have divorced cellulose, as dumb as that sounds. Cellulose is a derivative of “cell.” I mean how do you divorce something that is pretty much ubiquitous. You can make fuel out of cellulose. You can make a bomb out of cellulose. You can smoke, cook, and wear cellulose. You can even paint your body on game day with cellulose. Yada yada yada, cellulose. Now let me take off my cellulose and pull back the cellulose covers and get on my cellulose mattress and light another cellulose butt. Hopefully I will fall asleep to the sound of cellulose swaying in the wind. Except for you, Bougainvillea bush. Tomorrow, I will introduce you to steel.