mass AND LUNA

It’s a new day in 4 ½ minutes.
Sage burning belly ringers on phone phone phone.

mass carpenter riots overcome the trigger happy Red Lakers too traumatic to really accept. Only pharmaceutical preparation and mass hallucination.

Breeders breed and woodchucks chuck.

The holodeck won’t quit mass production most definitely maybe on the kitchen table of life. Transparent Translucent Freakout Fantastic. Hold your dharma beads and grab your baseball bat, trouble won’t stop for anyone, least of all you. Spit, snarl, bite, and scratch against the organized chaos of Society X. A mass exodus is upon us.

And Luna be thy name.

Playing the Blame Game with Smells Like Teen Spirit

What happens if you wake up one morning and realize that instead of having yourself to blame you had an altogether different source, a shockingly obvious source, a source everyone looks to for the personification of sheer evil…music. In this case, bad grunge music from the likes of Neeehrvaaana. That’s what happened to me when the cocky yet totally unoriginal DJ on 93X did when he decided to barrage my eardrums for the 3417th time with the Kurt “Fucking” Cobain classic, Smells Like Godamn Yippity Smittiny Fuckin’ Spirit. Woooo Hooooo. Da na na na! Da na na na! Da na na na! Da na na na!

JACKASS DJ: This is the voice of your generation!

AVID RADIO LISTENER: Fuck off, you stupid mindless cunt.

And the soulless rut you call employment is merely your collar in the credit and slavery you’ve been force into. Blame it on the guidance counselor who told you graphic design school was a good major. Blame it on the Man who won’t give you decent wage for which the credit cards would be unnecessary. Blame it on the dentist who overcharges you for an X-Ray. Blame it on your parents’ lack of success. Blame it on the rain. Yeah Yeah.

But most of all, blame it Kurt Cobain and his damn song.
The song that gave your meaningless life meaningless lyrics to live it by.

But never ever ever blame it on yourself.

A denial. A denial. A denial.

JACKASS DJ: Let’s hear that one more time.

AVID RADIO LISTENER: You fuckin’ prick. I hope you choke on your own tongue.

3418.