Verwirrung

I know this is gonna get me lynched. But anyway–

BREAKING NEWS:
GRITS FUCKING SUCK.

They’re like this disgusting corn paste crap that Southerners swear by. I don’t know what retarded thing Southerners obsess over more: grits, or the confederate flag. Neither have any place in the union.

I NEED CUPPA COFFEE AND SOME CORN PASTE TO START THE DAY
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AND MAH TRACTOR

SRSLY, would you eat this crap?
It looks like something that dripped out of a tissue. Tastes about the same, too.

I can already hear you: NO, PROFESSOR CRAMULUS. YOU’VE GOTTA EAT GRITS WITH SYRUP OR HOT SAUCE OR SOME SHIT

well really then you’re just saying you like syrup or hot sauce or some shit, and the bland, goopey corn sludge is a vehicle for it. You might as well drink the syrup right out of the bottle and save room in your stomach for foods that aren’t made of slime.

People in the south are FANATIC about grits. Check it out:

“Whereas, throughout its history, the South has relished its grits, making them a symbol of its diet, its customs, its humor, and its hospitality, and whereas, every community in the State of South Carolina used to be the site of a grits mill and every local economy in the State used to be dependent on its product; and whereas, grits has been a part of the life of every South Carolinian of whatever race, background, gender, and income; and whereas, grits could very well play a vital role in the future of not only this State, but also the world.”

That’s from the South Carolina General Assembly 113th Session, 1999-2000, Bill Number: 4806. They love grits so much they can’t stop talking about them, even long enough to pass a bill.

FUCK GRITS

When I was 17, it filled my mouth with bile to think about the Office World looming over me like the sword of damocles. After watching Fight Club, Office Space, reading too much Cyberpunk, etc etc I thought that being a fucking independant, self-actualized, free-thinking individual might be negated by some sort of white collar slavery, some sort of indentured servitude to the Machine.

But ya know, after bouncing from career to career for a while, I’ve been sitting in this particular little gray cube for over a year now and it really ain’t that bad. Today is April Fool’s day and I’m hanging up prank signs from the MGT. My cube is filled with art by Magritte, Brandon Bird, Perry Bible Fellowship, and my own stuff. It’s the little things.

And you know, over here in the belly of The Machine, people actually DO seem to appreciate free thinkers. How’s that for faith in humanity? I do think people appreciate those rare freaks who are more colorful than their environment, and it IS inspirational.

And that’s the whole gimmick, right? How to sell out without losing anything of value? Without trapping yourself? How to rearrange the local parts of the Machine until it’s the Machine you want to live in?

I don’t think the 17 year old version of me got it yet. I’m 26 now and Yes I may seem like a white collar slave sometimes, but really now - it ain’t so bad. It beats being an actor / waiter, or a screen writer / shoe salesman, or a starving artist with scabby knees. Because when I’m not in the 9 to 5, I’m living a guitar solo. What I do professionally isn’t the focus of my life. Last night I went out and put up a hundred fucking posters, and it recharged me like WOAH I’m fucking awake again.

This  one guy was walking back from his car, and he saw one of the posters my girlfriend and I put up, and he burst out laughing like a mad man. As we walked down the block, we could hear him in the distance, still cackling. Somebody out there saw something weird today, and maybe he’s gonna start looking everywhere for nonsense now. Maybe he’ll even become a part of it.

This activity really recharges my batteries. If I’m ever feeling Low Quality, this is one of those things I try to remember to do. It makes me feel like all this talk we do about surviving on the lunatic fringe isn’t just abstract masturbation - I’m actually out there doing it.

whatever it is.
WOAH I’m fucking awake again!