By Zecharia Parker
Buy new: $19.99
First tagged by William Beattie
Customer tags: ciphers, writers, writing, mystery, fraternity, cabals, hunter s thompson, book clubs, new novel, comedy, secret societies
Review & Description
INTRODUCTION Remedies…everyone is selling a remedy these days. Ointment this… supplements that, “Have you tried the latest in ‘enema technologies?’” Somehow deep inside of me, I knew, I was only a few year’s away from needing a battery-ram of enema’s and colonic-douches. These were just a few of the processes I would have to look forward to as I approached the disabling, handicapped years of a geriatric. I knew I had a few more good years in me and I wished to spend them in the good company of socialites and intellectuals. The most downright wretched form of social congregation is a swindling marketing team; I knew from first hand experience while working for a fascist run corporation. Many of them exist, and will do anything to shove their products down your throat. They would plunder the world, uproot its soils, and demolish the sacred; all for the chance to make a few lousy greenbacks, and then huddle around their festering, miscreant friends at some makeshift salon, pounding their fists like barbaric-Neanderthals because their favorite NFL team is mustering a Spartan comeback to solidify a lousy spot in the playoff race. Most of us have been there, but the rest of us detest the demonstration of such uncouth savagery. The world is becoming unhinged at its foundations, wars, famines, money markets plunging to new lowly-quagmires, and the only answer to this problem is some guy on a Friday night yelling, “Screw it, there is nothing we can do about it…Bottoms up!…Cheers mates!...Down with the glib moralists!…One more for the home team!” The ‘rah rah’ crowd in their fits of frenzy have nothing to offer the world in such sub-human states of debauchery; and they have even less to offer their kids and wives the next morning at daybreak, waking up with a crispy-clear blue-sky on a Saturday afternoon with the look on their contorted faces resembling something of a rabid-jackal cornered by mad-raving hunters. Excedrin, Advil, Tylenol, and a bowl of children’s Fruity-Pebbles, is no way to start a productive weekend. Have you ever tasted a bowl of those things? They taste just like Flint Stone Vitamins sprinkled with Skittles-dust. The ungodly amount of food coloring and additives sprayed on that swill is enough to send any kid with borderline A.D.D into a permanent, vengeful conniption-fit. The guilt of staying out all night, with the family tucked away, safe at home, is enough to send the strongest of men to unlikely places: Toys R’ Us, Chucky Cheese, and the only restaurant in the world that serves plastic isotopes in their food, McDonalds. “I need a new toy daddy!” Now the smart kid stayed up all night calculating his move. “I need a new toy daddy, to help stimulate the economy.” These little prospective, future political statesman, are merely warming up for the hoodwinking of certain honey-comb hideout club’s that advocate tricknology, and every other form of linguistic heresy—more commonly known as the art of public duping. Kids are smarter than you think. What do they call them now, Indigo kids? My step-kid lulled me into his little fantasyland strategy and requested the most expensive toy on the shelf at Toys R’ Us. He put up a strong rebuttal (after I refused) about how I had probably spent more money in one night carousing with degenerates than his allowance allowed him to spend for pleasurable effects yearly. Read more
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