The last year has shown me an America that I never wanted
to believe existed.
A cheaper version of its former Baywatch self with much
lower standards.
The challenge facing my immediate future is a truly
existential one.
I am thirty-five, over-married
and unemployed.
My experience of a decade is worth nothing in this
market, as is apparent from the feedback I get regarding potential concerns on
cultural incompatibility from prospective employers.
The worst part is that the minimum wage, too, is below
subsistence level in America.
Put simply, I spend a large part of my waking life
feeling fucked.
It’s not that I’m getting fucked, and the feeling is not
post-orgasmic.
The actual experience is more like walking around with a
phallic object shoved up my anus.
When it gets too uncomfortable, I go drinking. Which
gives me a hangover.
And then I wake up with a headache, still feeling fucked.
The only thing to look forward to is releasing the butt
plug on the throne.
My current level of experience with toilet paper allows
me to get by leaving no paper trails.
Cannot say the same about the skid marks, though.
