Sometimes when I’m looking for material to post on, I try to look deep within myself and find some really dark hidden reality inside of me to enlighten you all with so we can make some kind of human connection however fragile across these windows of integrated circuits and pixels n shit.
But, let’s face it, I’m not that substantive, and to be honest, sometimes I’m as shallow as that stagnant, piss-temperature puddle I just fucked my boots up in on my way to work. Trust me, I live with myself, I know this about me.
Shopping makes me happy. Not ephemerally, evasively happy, but real, Capitalism-Has-Hooked-It´s-Fangs-Into-Me-And-I´m-Ready-To-Speak-In-Tongues-For-This-Shit happy.
I know that deep down I’m a materialist. If someone gave me 500,000 euros it would buy my happiness. Or at least I feel like it would. I would buy a house in Arizona and a flat in Spain and I would quit my Being-Penetrated-In-My-Ear-Canal-Would-Be-Funner-Than-This job.
I know, I know, you will say that if I had the money, I would just find new things to be unhappy about and it wouldn’t bring REAL happiness. Well, save it, cause luckily I don’t believe in real happiness. How could I? I’m kidless. Everyone knows you can’t even fathom real happiness until you spawn. Duh.
So in the meantime, I’m gonna drool over some new boots I might treat myself to if I start feeling really desperate for some happiness relief and dream of the day I can tell The Man to get his dick out of my ear canal.
Anyone have a Q-tip?