Thursday, December 31, 2009

Dear Uncle Samta 09

I need a new decade. I wore this one out. Got a job. Got a better job. Got no job. Maxed out my credit card. Bought a house. Bought some stock. Was rich like twice. More broke now than I’ve been since I was a kid. Lost my hair, some teeth and the ability to read anything after sundown. My toes are down here somewhere. Ate too much shit. Took too much crap. Never got laid but was screwed with great frequency. Paid taxes. Saw doctors. Watched TV. Made friends on the Internet. My ass itches; more now than in any other time in my life. I hope that’s a good sign.

I need stimulus. Young beaver. Silver dollar pancakes. Row boat. A guy with a big hat and big beard to go fishing with. A retired porn star wife who makes beer. She doesn’t have to clean the house. Leave it a mess. My life’s a mess. I’m a mess. I’ll feel at home.

Obama’s been boss for almost a year and not a phone call or an email. I don’t think he’s asking about me. Anyone who knows me would tell me if Obama was asking about me. It’d be like a big deal or something. Invites total strangers to his parties. I don’t even have a record player.

Movies suck. It’s all eye drug and haemoid ice cream. Music’s worse. I freely admit that half the music I enjoyed was noise. Now it’s all noise. An angry hobo screaming at you about shit while you’re laying on the floor of a speeding boxcar.

TV’s all mean people and assholes. I can’t tell if I’m watching a reality show or a cartoon. The only thing more ridiculous and unreal is the News. And it’s a whole different world on every network. Thank god I never sesame to cable.

Young people post photo albums of every moment of youth I’m trying to forget. I expect people under thirty to be depressed, obsessed and psychotic but most of them just look concerned. They look like they’ll be middle-aged in like ten minutes. They scare me, even more than when I was young.

Looks like we have seasons again. Missed them. A cold puddle followed by a big puddle, hot concrete and finally the trees littering. I’d go to the park but I usually step in dog shit.

Happy New Decade

Don Arrup
Satire1

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