“We’re cruising at 40,000!” the captain said.
I’m contemplating the question of whether life has meaning, gazing absent-mindedly down on the floor tiles, when suddenly I realize that the plastic is coming alive with thousands of dot-size ants that have made their home somewhere below this toilet seat.
Believe it or not, I think I know exactly how they feel. They have opted for the collectivist perspective, which is to say that, for them, the meaning of life streams forth from the holey center of a great sand hill and is both universal and absolute. There is not one smelly skeptical relativist to be found among this lot, and, although their conversations may be somewhat lacking in originality and verve, the aerial view that I have of their scurrying culture does remind me of a rush hour cityscape as observed from a topped out jet.
So, I piss and shit and flush, harboring a nasty, self-centered wish for my waste products to inundate that awful queendom under me just like a tsunami.
Larry Rapant
Thu, May 22, 2008 at 3:29 PM
1 comment:
Call the graphic Ant Misbehavin' or Scrambled Ants or Here Comes UPS Again or The Map of the USA or Don't You Just Love This Frosting or Which Way Is the Exit or I Think I Just Shit Out of my Head or I'm Not Getting the PBS Channel with these Antennas or Global Squirming or Which One of You Assholes is Larry or These Ants Could Make a Nice Beaded Curtain etc.
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