I Can't Say That There's Nothing Right About It

I once heard a woman say that if she saw a hair on the toilet she wouldn’t use the restroom.

Others nodded in agreement.

Another one would die if they touched an egg.

One gal went on to claim her drink would be undrinkable if there wasn’t a sugar-free sugar to add.

I knew a lad who somehow always ended up with just a hair less than enough every week

I met a man named Chuck who always only needed a buck to last him until tomorrow where he would need just another dollar from each passer by to survive the night-

Well, alright.

Go get ‘em.

Afterall we’re all beggars in our own right and I can’t say that there’s nothing right about it…

So, I drink my drink and smoke my smoke and joke about with Death a little and fidget about on the fiddle and vomit up a riddle,

answered with a burp….

Then that hiccuped question speaks last with the curiosity and astonishing wonder of how the fuck we survived as a species….

We are deprived of our sense of survival and little known self-awareness. We are ear deep in carelessness and apathy.

Phobias of other living beings and their thoughts.

Allergies to conversation.

Illness and repulsion to the sight of a follicle atop a toilet seat…