Fourword
Snork, sputter, cough, vomit.
Loboto-Might
Society had become the likes of a blonde haired asian woman: at first glance all seemed flowing well accordingly and on tempo in personified picture perfect anomalous camouflaged desire for the ages to condition silky smooth serenely scented scintillating sweetness surrounds, but upon deep-rooted observation it had become apparent – the substrate so unnaturally shouldered novelty the likes of unsustainable parts lest an eventual lifelong covering denial appearances au natural. Well yes, but what about the rug?…Hard-wood flooring!
But there were only four items and a freshly bought (nowadays) paper grocery bag to pack said four items into. Really, no rocket science needed there, nor grounded social studies neither. Heck, just a few years ago a pulse and a non electroencephalograph verified brainwave affirmation spectrum would have passed that test. Welcome to COVID-19 and beyond! Metaphorical window – meet defenestration of souls, exponential big-top derides. After having been in such a situation at another time and space interval, when the grocery clerk reached firstly for the heavier bulky item it seemed apparent the haul of warped mirrors had not punched the ticket as of yet, until said clerk let us know that something seemed to be wrong with the petroleum-based clear packaging in question of which they had just handled without incident in order to scan and then unceremoniously bypass the freshly bought (nowadays) paper grocery bag and place said item off to the side, so that the subsequently awaiting three perishable and fragile items could be placed in ripe undertaking for what would possibly become a revisited and revised petroleum-based clear packaging reassessment and grocery bag destabilization afterthought ruinous topping? Not wanting to find out how such could disgracefully end…if One wants something done right….Nope, nothing wrong with that petroleum-based clear packaging in question, or its contents for that matter, so out with the three firsts and then to make them the three lasts sitting upon a bulky and stable base. Phew, peace of mind….Jesus McChrist, is Yours Fingers And Thumbs Truly the only one incapable of rolling up a freshly bought (nowadays) paper grocery bag from ‘Safeway’ without it being torn quicker than a “royal” rectal-hymen at a “royal” Balmoral gin-fuelled familial barnyard jamboree!?
What the fudge do you mean the plumber hung the water supply lines on the outside of the exposed studs in one location and the water supply lines and drain line on the outside of an exposed bulkhead with enough room to accommodate a mainline in another location? Surely it must have been Christopher Plummer, no, with all his non-plumber experience? No, it was an actual fudgin’ plumber! But the one was a fully exposed wooden 2”x6” wall on 16” centres just begging to to be easily bored in order to accommodate such water-pipeness. And the space in the bulkhead?…. It seems drill bits are cheap and precious, but common sense is unaffordable and unattainable!? Hmm, you know, if one were to install the laminate flooring on the ceiling it sure would prevent an awful lot of aching spinal chord and knee joints, with not having to articulate such deteriorating humanoid flex components you know. But what about the flooring? Oh, don’t worry, the floor is all one big bulkhead now because the electricians just ran their electrical wires all willy-nilly like because, hey, it seems drill bits are cheap and precious, but common sense is unaffordable and unattainable!? But not to worry, we’ll wallpaper the floor bulkhead so as to not have to fight gravity in such glue-running or paper-unrolling affects. And what of the walls? Not to worry, the walls have been eliminated in entirety! Walls just keep people out! The ceilings and roofs hover on exponential hot air and the anti gravity emitted by humanoid ignorance. Can one not see the heaping societal mess? Everyone gather ‘round the heaping societal mess!
Fore!! Talk about shitty driving encompassment in the Big Smoke. Is it just Yours ICBC Roadstar + Truly to observe how so many people have become preoccupied with becoming a societal lobotomite that their turn signals seem to have up and gone to Heaven, except for those selfish cock-faces driving in the left hand lane that wait until they are three-foot-six-inches from the white signal stop line before they flick-on in uncourteous turning gesture to those adventurers that do not have a short enough attention span nor banal psyche enough to be one of those right lane only drivers on a two lanes in one direction street, until aforementioned Lefty Losers panic at having to get into the left lane to turn left where such a traumatic maneuver surely ignited a short bout of amnesia leaving them unable to signal the upcoming left turn until they are three-foot-six-inches from the white signal stop line, then when the traffic light has been red for three seconds already they finally decide it is safe to commit to that left turn – where such cock-faced ignorance so irked the other lacking anticipation trailing lobotomies in behind that two of them had to clear the intersection after the stuck in sort of driving time-warp culprit sinned against traffic nature already. And what about those selfish non-mirror-reflection-seers that decide to turn left on a street with only one lane in said direction but instead of being courteous and hugging the line which would let the other vehicles go around them on the right, instead they decided to turn left with a real estate parcel between their car and the centre dividing line in order to punish anyone with any sort of driving etiquette. Then there are the masochist door flingers – parked on the curb lane and seem to not give a fuck whether exiting or entering their vehicle they have to max out their door hinge and add some new geometry to the functional range of their door arc regardless of if a soothing vehicular pummelling be in their short-deck of cards; Yours Occasionally Steers With His Knees Truly had a run in with a masochist door flinger fireman in the firetruck not too long ago: he looked right into traffic as he was getting into the truck and maxed out the hinges with the look of not giving a fuck plastered in lobotomite blankly fashion…..
And then there were the seat-sniffers, seemingly the final tell of societal decline incapable of climbing back from the five-foot ten-and-a-half inch hole which had been dug in depth to match circumference, hence squared in cubic astrological bewilderment sin against violated natures semi aura glowing violations of ticketed unaccountability run amok to glee ridden nothingness – poof, a black hole, inhaled gaseous poisoning! Seat sniffers ain’t supposed to project seat-sniffing prowling prowess, the olfactory ol’ factory should be tuned to perfection, not trailing a trap set upon another while the real predation purveyors laugh like a perverted Merlin at a Chuck E Cheese’s kindergarten party as they pop in and out at will having rigged the machine to dispense endless tickets to claim whichever prize……