A note to all that think that social intercourse doesn’t apply to you.  And yes, you know who you are.  You’re the guy who thinks that the lane created for an exit on the freeway is actually a passing lane.  You’re the guy who counts other peoples items in the 12 or 15 item lanes at the supermarket, only to get up there yourself and have one over what ever the limit is.  You’re the girl that thinks fake tits makes you more interesting, but you hardly realize that it just makes you more of an object, f*ing worth, but still just an object.  You’re the girl that stabs everyone in the back and never understands why no one likes you.  You’re the Couple that’s been there and done that and now it gives you license to campaign against the youth of this country that are currently on the same course you were on. And any other creature of the night that sucks away at the marrow of life.

Now that we’ve established the enemy, it is time to lay them to waste.  Drop them with smart bombs and grenades and tanks.  Here is my first a-bomb:  Get a clue!  It’s not so terribly complicated to recognize that you are not alone on this planet.  That you are but one tiny, shitty, speck of crap on a globe of billions of specks.  You don’t know any better than I, even with your college education and your large paycheck waiting for you at the end of the week.  Frankly, the money is meaningless, most of the best minds humanity has been lucky enough to have grace this pathetic little planet, died lonely and poor.  Mostly because of sharks, like yourselves, that eat away at them slowly and what ever you can’t chew on from them you try and infect with cancer.

My only hope is that somewhere along the way you run up against someone of your own desires.  Damn the torpedoes and may the enemy taste his own blood!  Until then I’ll curse you under my breathe behind you in the supermarket.