When the only functional department left
is the IRS,
then the only option we have left
is to stop paying.

He's clocking out, climbing into his car.
He can do both things at once,
the time clock is just an app on his phone.
These days, he guesses, most everything
is just an app on the phone.

Phone. We still call it that.
Wonder how many people
make calls these days at all?
He laughs quietly to himself
and starts the engine,
shifts into first,
slips the clutch,
and he's on the road.

He passes run down storefronts
long abandoned, old restaurants
with four or five different names
glued to the facade. Nothing lasts here.

The diner still runs though,
a well oiled machine.
Maybe I'll eat there tonight
he says to himself.
Breakfast for dinner, eggs and bacon.
Sounds good.

Maybe he'll stay there for six hours.
Drinking coffee,
talking to locals.
Maybe he won't.
Maybe he'll take the long way home
and hit the pub for wings.
Maybe he won't though.
No matter what he ends up doing
he's always satisfied having the options.

It's not the places I go to waste my time,
the thought comes to him suddenly,
it's the option of being able to waste it
wherever and whenever I want.
That's what I really love.

He smiles a slight grin,
eyes full of sunset.
His stomach grumbles,
hits a downshift as he steps on the gas,
and cruises off into the horizon.
It may not be a particularly exciting
or overly successful life, but
one thing that's for certain is that
he'll be happy to do it all over again
tomorrow.

Have you got 600 grand
invested in Haliburton?
Or maybe Raytheon?

I do. I support war.

I love war.

More war, more money.
I'd vote for Cheney
if I could, but
a vote for Harris
will have to do.

Governor Shapiro is signing bombs,
he should sign every bullet.
If his name doesn't fit
he can shorten it
to "$"

The whale carcass of our country
is still warm to the touch,
but we will feast upon it
until there's nothing left.

Our bunkers will be our tombs,
lined with dollar bills,
soaked with blood.

I want war with Russia,
all out, no more proxies.
Save the remnants of Ukraine
and send our children instead.
I want war with China, war
with Korea.
I want war,
I want more,
I want money.
I want to watch the night horizon
ablaze with future archeologist's delight.
Vote for Cheney with me.
Vote for money,
I want MONEY.
I WANT MONEY.
YOU SHOULD TOO.

Soon the memories you're making now
will be the ones you long to remember.

You'll never read this.
That's what makes it
so easy to write.

Dude sometimes I rub my eyes
and it feels so ******* good
that I just can't stop.
Both eyes at once,
knuckles just twisting away.

I can drive with my knees,
can you do that?
It's difficult with my stick-shift
but I've gotten pretty good.









Anyway, I've been getting into
a lot of car accidents lately.

She reaches behind her
and spreads everything,
her head presses into the comforter.
Duvet? Comforter? It's argyle,
whatever you wanna call it.
Green and light teal, the colors
of the blanket and pillows
match the curtains
hanging in the unfocused
background.
I turn the volume down
as she moans through
the initial insertion.
That's my favorite part.
The rhythmic slapping
of flesh coming together
begins like the beat of
some primal, animalistic drum.
I notice the furnishings are
seldom, a single dresser
with a large mirror
is the only thing I can see.
It has a light finish on it.
Interesting.
I would've gone with a dark walnut,
or maybe a mahogany.
Is dark wood furniture out of style?
I look around my room,
at the dark stained wood desk
that my computer sits on.
My **** isn't even hard anymore.
*** slowly dribbles out as I finish,
mostly unsatisfied.
Unsatisfied with my paltry velocity,
and further unsatisfied with my
terrible sense of interior decoration.
Oh well, I'll go again in an hour.
Maybe I'll get some ideas
for my kitchen.