I’ve been clinging to some semblance of sanity in a very insane time, or perhaps an un-sane time, anti-sane perhaps for quite a while now. The difference in my behavior is subtle, as my sanity is one of the most fiercely debated topics of the modern era, just by me.
The world seems to be going sideways, which is actually how I like it. I like when things don’t go up or down but instead shift into some bizzare third state that doesn’t get better or worse, only more and more bizzare. Mainly I enjoy such times because the good doctor Hunter S. Thompson was, in fact correct. When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. I turned pro around the time in 2007 when I straddled the Washington Monument as if it were my own gargantuan cock, and was photographed in such a position by the best (and at the time only) professional friend I had.
The really uncanny thing was that I’d been planning on taking that picture for over a year by the time it was accomplished, I just didn’t have the resources to perform such an act on my own. I suppose when I look at the pictures of those millions of people standing around that monument during the Inauguration and cheering rabidly, especially the aerial views where they all look very tiny and dark, the “bad” part of my brain will think back to that day and mentally tack on a cheering horde as pubic hair to my stone prong.
How far I’ve come from the days of my youth when I called it the Big Pencil. As with all things related to Washington D.C. and cocks, I blame Bill Clinton. The more recent and obvious joke would’ve revolved around “Dick Cheney” but ever since I met the man outside a bookstore, dressed in the most absurd way imaginable (dress shirt, tie, sport coat, tucked into navy blue sweatpants) it has been impossible for me to make any jokes regarding the man sexually. It is my belief he reproduces via budding.
This certainly has turned into a beautiful rant quite quickly, and I would apologize if that weren’t the whole point of this place. In real news, I’m not doing terribly, not doing terribly well, but I judge my life’s success on the scale of misery and not the scale of joy, so as long as I cannot describe my life as sub-purgatorial in nature I’m pretty satisfied with the way things are going.
I’ve finally been properly ensnared by Fallout 3, a game I didn’t have the opportunity to truly enjoy during my tenure as a test monkey. It is quite a glorious game, faults and all, though I doubt anyone can truly appreciate the bombed-out DC environment without being from around here. There’s something elementally satisfying about seeing your place of birth rendered as a post-nuclear hellscape. Not that I’d want the city laid waste in my lifetime, for all its flaws it is a rather remarkable place, as long as you ignore everyone who has a job remotely related to politics. To my knowledge it is the only place in the world where you can see up close a piece of the moon, a Tyrannasaurus Rex, the Magna Carta, and a bum taking a whiz by a street vendor within a two-block radius, might I add that the bookends to those two blocks are the White House and the U.S. Capitol respectively.
Perhaps when I’m more coherent I’ll write at length about my developing theory of the Economic Cold War and cultural equilibrium. It actually is quite fascinating, and I’m spending most of my time thinking all about it.
So until next time, Love, Luck, and Lollipops, everyone.
