The BP oil spill fiasco makes me want to put my head through a desk. Time for a revolution. Let’s stop big business from literally getting away with murder. Let’s make our government work for us instead of favoring major corporations. Let’s have a planet to live on in 20 years. This is getting out of control, and our apathy is aiding and abetting a grim situation.
I am not prone to a feeling of hopelessness very often, but my cynicism regarding the innate goodness of humanity is on overdrive. There is an acquiescence, an utter disregard for anything but gazing at one’s own navel, a willing and enthusiastic ignorance running rampant like a disease in our society. You really want to be a self-centered fuck-wad? Take care of the earth so you can continue having a privileged existence. As much as I love “Mad Max”, that’s not the type of world in which I care to live. I like the internet, ice cream, and knowing, like, totally for sure that I won’t be stabbed in the neck while I sleep way too much to want to live in a post-apocalyptic world. You think I’m being melodramatic? We aren’t that far-gone yet? Well, maybe not yet, but…
Oil-soaked shore.
Dead Bird Floating in Oil
Let's go swimming!
Welcome to the Thunderdome, bitch.
It’s getting pretty fucking bad, and a lot of it is our fault. Yes, the earth moves in cycles. Yes, we would have experienced an ice-age or epic draught sooner or later as a way of the earth cleansing itself. These things are sure to happen, but we’re prepping a step-ladder to our own demise.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe, no matter what we do, we’re screwed because the sun is going to die and take all of us with it. Black holes do seem about as inevitable as an ice age…or those sores coming back…but do you really want to live in a shit-hole until it’s time for us all to go? I mean, just because we’re moving out in a few centuries doesn’t mean we should trash the place.
If you can’t say it in 140 characters or less, I don’t want to hear it.
Alright, here’s the thing. I love twitter. I tweet (twat?) more than I wash my hair. I keep a note on my phone with my random one-liners so I always have something to say. I am ashamed to admit that I’ve had dreams about tweeting. Having said all that and, quite possibly, removed any cool points I have accumulated thus-far, I have a lot of rules surrounding what I will and will not tweet.
#1: “FML”
Yeah, I get it. You’re sad. Shit’s hard. Your wife left you. Your dog died. Your brother’s in a coma. DON’T FUCKING TWEET IT, JUST FIX IT. The last thing you need to do to yourself in this troubling time is give the entire world a play-by-play of your miserable existence. Not only does it make you look moderately pathetic, but it’s a cry-for-help that never gets positive attention. I hate to get all “The Secret” on you, but focusing on the negativity in your life does nothing but bring more negativity.
Just close your eyes and pretend he’s not underage.
I’m ashamed. I’m appalled by my own behavior. I look in the mirror every night and call myself a whore while slapping myself in the face. I cry in the shower with a rag in my mouth to muffle my sobs. Ok, I’m taking this a bit too far. I really do feel a slight tinge of embarrassment, though, when I am forced to tell anyone that not only have I read “Twilight” series, but that I also eagerly await every new movie like a ‘tween girl. I won’t go so far as to say I count down the days to the next premier on my calendar, but I think you can probably surmise that on your own.
Alright, before we get into my “Twilight” obsession, let’s backtrack about sixteen years…
