"A Good Hot Beer Shit," or, Vituperative Victual

A bum rap is a spanking.

A reputation for homelessness precedes the drifter.

A cold wind blows in from the North Pole, “a sure sign of winter,” jests the weatherman.  It is that time of the month and it certainly feels that way.  Santa returns from the North to recollect underappreciated toys. It’s part of a new, clean of coal (green) policy to distribute gifts to all, but to recall a posteriori, if behaviors remain stubbornly unchanged in the midst of privileged and advantaged opportunity made materially obvious/oblivious to.

Being infantilized, the American public, according to Scott, an underpaid commercial glass specialist. By being made dependent on pandering handouts, striving is rewarded inversely (the more you do, the less you make!)  Capitalism is a stock-pile.  An acquisition specialist accrues useful product that is bound to appreciate.  “Work smarter, not harder,” a collection specialist recalls a poster he saw once, haunts him.  “Handouts and outsourcing,” that generates inflation and the strengthening of foreign powers mandates dependency.  Amazon®, this year strikes new deals with Kohl’s®, U.P.S. ®, and Satan.  As measures of success reach such extreme proportions, the only way to properly evaluate success is on the extension of evil complete with new factories (places devoid of the natural world it has come to replace), jobs, and robotic employment.  Aristocracy’s remittance is measured by philanthropy while their service is met with burden, demand, and taxation.  Machiavelli believes that men, left to their own devices, are prone to evil.  Laws prohibit such action, however overreach of lawmakers is evil in itself by weakening the will to usurp tyrants.

Tom eases his little mind with a drink.

If man has the ability to get drunk or high before/during/ or after work, performance may be effected, but levels of sedition are passed onto the consumer! 

Suspicious professions are had by widowed wives.  A bacteriologist brags about not wearing a mask, knowing.  A knower, aware of what is ‘common’ knowledge and not, parses bullshit many haven’t the time or attention-span to adequately consider. 

A tangled web may incarcerate flies, but what is tininess?  Not exactly a ‘ringing in the ears,’ (a quality of hypersensitivity…).  The endured duration of tininess is actively obdurate (speed at magnitude).  I find myself smaller still.  An unrecognizable mote irritates and my lack of ease becomes a personality trait endured out of sympathy for the survivor of difficult feelings.  Why do bitterness and resentment persist?

Flavoring medicine a’drip – an ad-rep Coca-Cola’s® a bacteriophage, masking intolerability with flavor & simple syrup.  Hoping to further qualify a discomfort, (a stubborn, awkward stance) he floats an opinion of an indelicacy.   “Just a spoonful of high fructose corn syrup helps the medicine go down,” like a bad Mary Poppins. 

A nagging presumption gets under-the-skin, it cuts at what is sidetracked.  Regeneration quells worry.  An autodidact learns the hard way. 

Bag-eyed, perfumed, a heavily Greek maiden takes an Irish shot. Her red-haired, Puma®-hatted husband doom-scrolls.  There’s no opportunity for recompense.  Our fiduciary obstacles are too great. 

Mind and Body Being Two

 

Appearances’ demeanors preclude intent.
Irreconcilable differences – one is hell-bent.

My Adriatic constitution hell-bends toward insolvency (rebellious to the queen). 
Indeterminacy’s tininess’ hypersensitization to impertinently asked questions,

How are her physical pain and her mental anguish not tyrannical to me?
Victim of being, perhaps she wants a big man to overlook her tiny details:

M&BB2

Men, left to their own devices, trend toward evil, become little, distant.  Decreased ability to focus on a train of thought without smartphone assistance, the increasingly dependent (increasingly handicapped) doom-scroll to their own detriment.  Mentality a’ detritus, scatterbrained by a strong wind, adequately feminized for the ruling elite!  And I may be wed through what could be categorized in an extra-sensory-perceptual sense to my unforgiven mistakes that nag as the mental imagery fails to dissipate despite my dissipation – what I dwell-on and resent haunts the meditative flow-state. 

Vituperative victuals! I consider the Dharma-Status of a reincarnated human born under a bad sign. What misdeeds of a former life brought wretchedness upon an unfortunately fated individual?  Considering the theodicy of a Presbyterian…if justice were more than merely a human invention, then it stands to reason that something beyond a normal hominid’s lifetime’s duration may reprove a soul susceptible to conscientiousness.  The future is now because plans are being brandished in accordance with inevitable comeuppance!  Justice Brown (our arbiter) arbitrarily remarks, “Definitions for new words can be guessed at, but the physical manifestation may be too detailed for anything confident, save an outline.”  The court’s rough sketcher scribbles a furry ‘V’ for an eyebrows. 

I browse for a definition, “I think she said ‘scat’ (in her case profile).”

The defendant ‘be-bop-a-doo’s’ while she puts her court-order in.  “Because of her psychological condition that used to be called ‘scatter-brain’ I can’t hold her in contempt,” rues the judge, “mistress so-and-so with the fancy ‘V’, Miss Cartuzy, please state your name and date-of-birth for the audience.

“I ‘n’ Glinda sem for 23-whole,” she scats in ebonics.

“My translator tells me you have worm-worn that outfit, but is that all you have?” Her track-suit has clearly been cut-at with a pair of scissors or sheers.  In another week she’ll send it back for not fitting.  Her sister-accomplice, Glenda (she still retains many masculine characteristics) or Glen-Linda as they prefer to be called, shifts his package, evidence.

“Once my transformation is complete, my name will be Trish, NOT Patricia, and I’ll be 23 in August if this conditioner does what it says,” they say.

The judge and the district attorney deliberate with consideration of the defense’s representative, an over-worked, underpaid native who makes the best of things.  “Her individuality is of a criminal sort, undoubtedly, a house divided amongst itself cannot stand or something like that, however our current formal definition states or indicates that we need to do more to help them find an ennobling application for their efforts, but we also are not at liberty to prevent *slap* self-harm?” as the defense swats a fly away from his face in the hot office.

 

Carpe Diet!  (Seize the food!) Scrolling, seeking iterations, “man does not live on food alone,” the digitized scripture pops-up, presenting modulations on a theme.  How are prayers answered (if they even are)?  There’s no accounting for personal taste, save data-collection as a sort of predetermination of future demand for festoons!  Amazon® knows, (before you even search), what you desire.  Consumerism lacking creativity, thinking inside the brown parcel with a black swoop a la Nike®, no caveat emptor.  Accessorizing saves industry through bullshit charges for needless things in the name of planned obsolescence.  Returns departments waste energy, with the depletion of finite resources (including time), because purchasing power declines with inflation, Stan sends back his shoes that don’t fit instead of giving them to a religious organization that redistributes based on need. 

Out-of-step with current normative functions and fads, perhaps my feelings of isolation/friendlessness are relatively healthy, contrasting hyperactivity.

Dead Horse® Dog Food™ refills on a timer.
Actuarial scientists feed datum into a filtration algo-rhythm.
My spiritual imp vicariously pinches butt-cheeks.

My put-together public persona I wish to maintain, that I feel might escape me without some effort, so that I establish myself (despite crowding) on all the social-media apps except Proximity™ (0b3y™ by Meta®).

 

Copper chasers, fucking without prospects, attracted to the authority, the baton, and the uniform that if they were imbued with such a powerful trinity could easily tyrannize anyone deemed unfit.  (Her physical pain, her mental anguish…)  Without a constitution to guide behavior, civilization descends into barbarianism and anarchy.  What many fail to recognize is that an individual may be anarchic if one’s own constitution is unfit.  Shitty behavior vis.  Many manifest a reality that is more chaotic than is sustainable for life.  Feeling feelings without qualification allows free passage.

Fauci, selling pseudoscience less effective than pseudoephedrine, is too short to not be intimately affiliated with Gringott’s!  Not that there’s anything wrong with bank management, but there is something wrong with misrepresentation of rolê as it constitutes an existential indicator of bad faith.  Quit your job and find your true calling like the rest of us, sir!

Tad Palisade wishes he were froggier. 

The best time to smoke is in the morning ((like a) crackpot) when it is appropriate to inhale the day’s nebulousness and make plans.

A leper is a social outcast, esp. one with a skin condition (tattoos count).

Transphobia, from an old white man’s perspective, is based on an education on what are social ills and how to recognize them, including communism, drugs, and homosexuality.  The resulting feminization (from a dualistic perspective) is toxic to masculinity as its diametric opposite.  An opposition to the idea of gender fluidity is formed in such a way that it evokes an inflammatory immune response in the individual, suffering the weakened immune system of a society gone to pot!  “I don’t care what you say, it’s under my control!” is a typical masculine response to concepts related to health and sexuality.  Celibacy can be virtuous, as courting sexual favor is ultimately a choice.  @JizzSniper69 attempts a character assassination on Twitter, “White-male privileged transphobia is a cis-gender bias that chaotic personality-types do not deserve as much consideration as orderly ones.  Just because Justice Brown has her shit together is no reason to denigrate the colic of another!”

“I didn’t want to tell you what to wear,” what to eat, to deny your freedom, but life in a cell only seems the safer option to participation in life (giving) events.  Putting form to chaos, he shapes her shiftiness.  He sees her slyly texting one-liners, smiling inwardly, smirking, proud of herself that she got one off on some lessor, taking up their mental real-estate, (the less expansive, the unimaginative).  He looks straight through her and he can already imagine what it’d be like to have her in bed (balled up and gagged), having had whores like her before, he was suddenly overcome with goodness as the result of his sexually congressional conquests to be bothered by some stupid pussy and became pusillanimous by closing his mind to the notion of what’s good about sexuality (differentiation), instead focusing on his confluence of losses he apparently has yet to learn from as expenses become exponential because of baseline appetites increasing.  Fear is rational, it is based on an assessment of vengefulness, which will always be lied about if it exists, as lying is tactful when it comes to undermining and confusing an enemy’s knowledge-base.  “Can I trust this person?” is primary for friendship.  Pumping is a form of processing, and then Tad remembered he was at a bar and not in a gym or amongst the gymnosperms, jogging.  Mad at himself for knowing better, he seeks an outlet to vent his frustrations, “Can you plug this in for me?” forgetting please, “it’s low on battery,” he accosts the bartender, used to that form of abuse.

“Sure, hon,” he expected her to say acquiescently, but having her own epiphany, she suddenly recognized she was better than this guy and continued her willful ignorance of his foolishness, the most socially acceptable form of closed (tab) mindedness, now aware of patterns of harm.  Her mementos, “I’m a Cuckoo” tattooed, reminiscent of Tweety, she reminisces a lover whose Olympus was a type of Greek aesthetic he found seductive (to a point).  The needling began as a pang which morphed into an angst which made him feel as tiny as an angstrom.  Thurman (a weekly patron) reaches out to Tad.

“What’s troubling you, son?” a patronymic ally.

“Lord Anthony, I love this old trollop’s guts, but I recognize it as a fool’s errand to linger there.”

“What you describe is a problem mankind suffers.”  Everyone is bound to suffer some kind or type of iniquity, existential or physical attacks on being.  Because of this, there exists the tempting nirvanic honor of being in nothingness, cloaked in a cloud of smoke manifested by some classically demonic (Faustian) force field.  Being in a state of loss-of-control, she sees things slipping away constantly as if into the ether right in front of her.  The choices she made had become predetermining factors.

“Everything is flat and dreary,” she voice commands into Proximity™.