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Someone who has mistaken himself for God stabs blindly at the remote, surfing channel after channel of America's Funniest Cheez Whiz perfect family car chase aerobic Rogaine murder talkshow sex ritual, counting each hair on Rush Limbaugh's head and giggling Beavis-like at each dying digitized sparrow on the totalivision screen.Outside, waves of shit fall crashing on a shore of styrofoam and raw meat. Empires crumble, their fifteen minutes of fame concluded, and fall piecemeal into the surging fecal ocean.In the cities, hordes of pretty things stand sneering at each other's clothing as they wait in nightclub lines to be shoved and pounded and pressed like dead flowers between the pages of fashion magazines, perfumed and sterile and all out of zeitgeist again, damn it, and did you see what she was wearing?Newspapers chock full of piecharts and celebrity skin lurk smugly in coin-operated boxes. We're eating more Spam, proclaim the headlines. Meanwhile, the State of New Jersey, having long since crawled up the vaselined ass of New York, dies at last in a fit of dioxin flavored spasms soon to be a major motion picture by Oliver Stone.Somewhere in the hinterlands, out in the big dark where CNN can't see them, barbarian tribes of policemen gather and make war on each other, systematically stealing each other's vowels and raping each other's women until they can no longer tell each other apart. Missionaries armed with science fiction novels and perfect hair shriek and gibber at the survivors, and new skirmishes break out between schism fevered factions hungry for agape and Big Mac.In a quiet corner of the world, some smart-ass hair farmer stands on a stage and rubs the audience's collective nose in it. Some of them even laugh.So what the hell are you looking at?
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