Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.
August 8, 2011 § Leave a comment
Well let’s see. I’ve puked up in my mouth a bit twice already this morning, so I’m guessing it must be Monday. It strikes me as the type of Monday where I won’t be putting pants on, too. I guess I have a lot of things to talk about. See, I get these ideas for posts and I start writing them out in my head, only I’m usually either stoned or eating ice cream, or a combination of the two, so by the time I get back to my computer, they’re all but forgotten and replaced by playing a flash game. (Cake Mania, best game or best game)
So Lindsay (of Broke & Beautiful, The Demoiselles and Awakened Aesthetic blogging notoriety, look her up, she’s famous.) tells me that if I would only add a little current events to my blog, it could be something spectacular. Little does she know that I am lazy, and that I secretly use our conversations as starting points for the entries I make. Yes, Lindsay, I’ve used you. About a week ago, we got into one of those political discussions. In other words, one of those moments where it’s three am and I’m stoned, but I’ve already eaten a klondike bar and four cookies, so I’m looking to satisfy my need to rant and rave endlessly and talk about like, how the government sucks, man. I am not even trying to be facetious, I do say man an awful lot. The dulcet tones of AbFab couldn’t divert me away from my insatiable need, so I turned to Lindsay, in a G-chat okay, we’re long distance, to talk about the economy,(let’s not even go there) and how liberal ideals are really just common sense and why has it been for the entire history of America that liberals are ~crazy, extreme~ when it is the most basic human rights shit on the planet, and also how the American dream is a fucking joke because we can’t even get free healthcare or go to college or marry if we both have vaginas. I mean it’s the usual, shit, right?
By the end of our conversation, I was feeling pretty morose, and forlorn and all about ready to get the fuck out of this US nation, especially after that one bit where we were discussing the sheer preposterous nature of the fact that you are not allowed to choose what country you were born into, yet you are forced to be a member of its society and participate in its government, and cannot simply form your own Confederacy, am I somehow understanding Civil War sympathies right now? Anyway. I was starting to feel a bit hungry again, so as I walked downstairs to raid the kitchen and hope that my mom wouldn’t be awake and wanting to discuss the Real Housewives of New York (she was, and we did) — I started wondering about the American dream. I mean what the fuck was that kind of propaganda bullshit was that? What the hell was the appeal of America, where the free is only free if you’re white, upper middle class and a man? And I stumbled upon it. Right there in my kitchen.
I found some vanilla ice cream, and I found some Hershey syrup. Also a bag of vanilla wafers. I brought it upstairs, took a resin hit, and realized I had an idea. I used this vanilla wafers as spoons to scoop my ice cream and …. holy fuck. That was it. I had stumbled upon the american dream. Suddenly I was entirely content with the world and overwhelmed by pure deliciousness and peace. Maybe that’s what they’re referring to in the Constitution. Maybe that’s what we’re all about. Gluttonous as fuck desserts. This is the kind of shit they should be putting on t-shirts instead.