boat burning on the lake
The following contains adult themes, read at your own discretion.
Turns out, USD is the quintessential currency for libidinal transaction. Being the denomination that wars, drugs and sex are measured in USD has long presented a standardization of fantasy-capital. Fantasy-capital which sent me, a chronic underachiever, to university. A literal coastal post-polytechnic backwater, but a seat of learning nonetheless!
Never has there existed any system which produces the exact opposite of its value-proposition to such an extent. I would bet that you would learn a great deal more during four years in a penitentiary then you would during four years at any university. My observation from within the midwit superstructure: we all share the same unique critique. ‘Critique’ which inevitably happens to transpire as a forgone conclusion of the perpetual culture war. Our online presences standing in line for our ration of the intellectual gruel.
I suppose this is the meaning of 'educated', tens of thousands against your name just so you can bitch about the housing market with the rest of us. If your dream is "to own a house" are you even a person? Consumption has grown so potent that it has captured our dreams, servitude to the mortgage provider is the new liberation, the gift card that keeps on giving. This is, until the effects of the Keynesian curse foreclose the illusion. A Keynesian nightmare awaits the futures of the correctly educated mass who don't know what I mean by these last two sentences.
But what can we expect when we willingly out-source our mate-selection to Tinder. Millions of years of evolution just so the bodily adherence to yoga pants could serve as our reproductive fitness-function.
I’m done with any pretense of the ‘intellectual’ or the ‘educated’. I think I’m just smart enough to realize there is no point in acting smart, let alone being smart.
The New World calls out to me in all its wonderful idiocracy. Let's start a civil war! Or as the Americans like to call it: Beer Pong.
Red Solo Cups just like in the movies.
I think it always important to appreciate the little things.
Poor old Miss Europe has her hands over her eyes in the spare room.
“Fellow pearl clutchers and mask-wearers! Let us bask in our ‘educated’ superiority! Vive L’Europhillia!”—Isn’t amazing how political enthusiasm can come as easy as covering your trap with some polyester?—What good is Europhillia when “We are all immigrants”?
LET THEM EAT POLYESTER, while the continent whimpers. The 21st Century has the ‘educated’ prisoner locked up in Spandau for their guilt while the continent is consumed by hungry mouths. Europe is that boat burning on the lake while the speedboat of Americana lingers for the show, blasting Billy Joel - We Didn't Start the Fire and Nelly - Hot in Herre.
Guess what? The Occidental invader is back. The devil of contemporary times. He wants his cake and also to eat it. Hence, our magic money tree. Moral guilt runs parallel to the debt of the hegemonic financial system: There is simply not enough punishment to rehabilitate the sins of Occidental man. There is only one option left. burn. it. down.
These new states, on the contrary, give the impression that anything is available. Provided you have a full wallet. It is not a question of "if?", but: "where?" and "how much?".
Aren’t I lucky! A city girl, fluoride stare and holes in her face.
"What happened? You used to be so Liberal."
On our own dime, it is time to escape. Please no more Piccadilly or Central. Rule Britannia is out of bounds and the state religion is *our NHS*.
Ah—to see a flag draped in a way that would cause a riot of tutting way back "home". Even if puts me in that 27 Club, I will say "plant" in that dirty way, I will stop being asked "I'm sorry?" every 3 sentences. These states, my 4th love.
4th times a charm, right?
Promethean fire excites any man with blood still flowing through his veins, a tragedy for the whole family is a party for the boys. Fire on the Lake? Use the damn water. If the Euros pulled their noses out of the sky they would realize there is water all around to quell their flames.
I am the father culture. This is probably why that one yank called me “daddy”. The luxury of these states is the girl in the bikini bending over to distract you during your turn in beer pong will acknowledge the fact in jest and not pose as if a natural Libertine. Americans are simultaneously the most prude, yet subversively decedent.
"Anything’s lube if you're desperate enough."—Lands like a charm.
The seltzer tap turns the girl next door into a redneck princess:
"What do you want for your birthday?"
"A redneck princess."
"A redneck princess what?"
"A redneck princess, please."
I have never been able to explain my affinity for these states.
Racism is the state-enforced religion.
The ambient music in Starbucks is the vaudeville of my liferaft.
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