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June 2005

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06/22/2005: "spirituality"

music: atonal humming
mood: extraterrestrial serenity

This should be the biggest bunch of bullshit I've ever written, and that includes every essay question I ever had to answer where I wasn't sure about the answer, but knew if I just used enough big words and long phrases, the teacher would not dare to fail me. I once had a strong mystical side, but it's been replaced over the years by a harsh, scientific mindset. Perhaps if the hypocrites running our world into the ground didn't use matters of the soul to further their ill-conceived, misbegotten schemes, I might be more likely to say Hallelujah and smile mindlessly at everyone I pass by. But when a second-rate con artist like G.W. Bush (a.k.a. The Great Mediocrity) proclaims J. Christ his favorite political philosopher in 2000, and then proceeds to spend $160 million lying to people, I feel a sudden urge to implant electrodes in everybody, save myself of course, and conduct several scientific experiments to answer the age-old question, "How stupid can you people get?"
Unfortunately, the Golden Age of government grants passed on in the late '70s, and if I had that kind of money thrown my way, I'd spend it on several low budget movies and on my music; I'd also buy a private, uncharted island shrouded in mystery that I could keep hidden from my fellow human beings. I'd also go to Flameburger a lot, it being the best hamburger I've had, and since it's only a hamburger, it's not worth trying any other burgers, to tell you the truth. While eating a Super Flame, I could say various profound things to my waiter and the cook, and with luck get a free order of their fries. I imagine a bold new age where the Flameburger on Rice Street is as renowned as the restaurant where Socrates drank the hemlock, but far safer and tastier, since hemlock is NOT on the menu.
Being poor, however, it's been months since my last visit to this most perfect of grills, which I consider a grave injustice. How can I believe in a higher power without the great taste of beef, fried onions, ketchup and mustard mixing in my enraptured mouth? Nay, it seems all this God-talk and new-age soul searching is just a bunch of nonsense, so unless someone takes me to Flameburger soon, it's time for some inhuman experiments on each one of you. It could become a reality show on Fox.

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