The Gonzo Wolf

I feel as about as useless as an asshole on an elbow, unless you have a toilet on your counter. Then, you can do that old fashioned Mick Jagger lean while taking a dump. Perhaps that’s why he can’t get no satisfaction. He can’t turn the page on the magazine.

I’m not a crazy bastard yelling at clouds, but a normal human speaking casually to brick walls. Nothing I say matters to anyone anymore. Life was so much easier when all I had to do was accept my editor’s sexual advances and get my work put in thousands of faces. Now that I’m a self employed writer again, I just screw myself. Same old song and dance; new talentless, auto-tuned pop princess. “Who knows how to please me better than me?” said a great man.

I’ve been around so many blocks, they’ve named some after me by default. That said, I can’t wait to see the looks on faces when their version of the future fails miserably. Peanut butter and jelly all around; no bread. The apocalypse will make farmers of us all. At least the ones who outlast the initially ignorant.