I was working hard to prevent it. I kind of woke up in a decent mood and then had to go deal with the fine folks at the Heeb. HEB for all those unaware of our special household language. That place is enough to make anyone spin out of control, especially since half a basket of groceries hit me for three Benji’s today. How’s that vote working out for y’all?

Earlier in the day, a friend and I were discussing things via social media. Yes, I know, I know; I should’ve bitten off my own hand before allowing it to manipulate my phone in such a way. Life is a constant argument now. Social media baited the trap. In a hundred years, it’ll be a form of religion to rival Christianity. Luckily, anyone reading this won’t be around then, so their point of view is inconsequential to the outcome.

Also, it will be on another planet, because this one is spent.

Roving gangs of like-minded-interest groups patrol social media like prehistoric aviary predators, squawking at the scattering Neanderthals below. It’s been that way for a decade, especially since poop rolls downhill. If the man at the top (The President; not the target of your incessant worshiping) – (Wait, some of you actually worship The President like he’s some sort of god, so it’s difficult to pinpoint my direction here) isn’t following etiquette and protocol – the anti-C3PO of the apocalypse.

Ew, remember in Episode Seven when he had that strange, orange arm? We just solved that plot hole like Palpatine! (Insert Jawa sound here)

Back on track…

There’s no such thing as an expert anymore. Everyone is Google savvy, and that’s about it. If they double-down on expert, I can’t take their word for it. After all, they probably Googled my questions, too. It’s exactly how the military trains you to do…anything. They teach you how to read a technical manual. After that, you’ve got a decent chance of operating any piece of military equipment. Especially the ‘scattered around after the bomb’ survival kind.

I prefer to generalize and say it’s only other authors who get under my skin, but I’m not quite sure a career or a talent is general enough. It’s the entire damn planet. Detraction: I’d like to apologize to my cat. Everyone else is a peckerhead; including myself. I’m on the fence about whales.

This time around, I can hear the scratch on approach. Like a flea-infested mutt, The Mother is going to rake her claws across the face of our cities, digging chasms through the streets we’ve so carelessly laid upon her flesh. That’s how bad we are. Our extinction is worth the scars.

No other planet will have us. They all get together like eighties’ chicks at the mall, comparing Johnny’s girth to the titular offering at the Corn Dog Seven. They know we come with baggage. Best they’ll do is let us orbit around in a defunct Tesla space station. It’s the galactic-scale insinuation of the proverbial “just the tip”.

I don’t even remember what I was mad about anymore. If art is medicine, then writing is the f’ing cure.

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. Hope everyone has an amazing remainder to their Tuesday. Man, you know it’s a good one when the AI image generator won’t spit out a cover image for you.

Oh yeah! Some Facebook chick tried to explain a movie to me. That’s where this was going. She shouldn’t do that.

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