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TreSwank -> Messenger Pigeons and a Flash of Wakefulness. (2/5/2007 6:11:20 PM)
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Two days ago, in one of those haphazard, personal "uh-oh" moments, I realized that I had lost my Cingular phone. I'd only purchased the goddamn thing a month ago, after dropping my Verizon in the shitter (which, luckily, was devoid of bodily secretions), and now, it has given up the ghost, like so many of TreSwank's underappreciated amenities. I wasn't too worried about throwing off the fetters of portable communication, until I had a little conversation with my best friend.
Swankster: Dude, I lost my fuckin' phone.
Pal: How are we gonna plan getting this new apartment up and running without your phone?
Swankster: I don't know, man. Maybe we'll have to rely on messenger pigeons.
Pal: (Laughing) That's too fucking funny!!
Swankster: How the fuck do you train one of those things? Avian brains are pretty goddamn primitive. I mean, really - how do you get a dumbass pigeon to deliver a letter to someone miles away, and then come back?
Pal: Maybe you have to train it by following the damn thing in a helicopter.
Swankster: If I could afford a fucking helicopter, I think that purchasing a phone would be a more feasible option.
I sat there for a couple minutes in the employee smoke-room at work, and daydreamed about pigeons: beady, stolid, pigeon eyes....... mindless repetitive cooing........ a constant, blowjob-simulating head bob. What an apt metaphor for your average American, the Swankster thought, puffing on his U.S.A Gold like a middle-aged alki anticipating "last call.". There I was, working at my leisurely-paced, menial job, worried about my coveyable talk-box, like millions of other emotionally-castrated, trifling shitheads residing in the "great states."
My phone, my computer, my Express jeans, my half-hour breaks, my "revitalizing" shampoo, my boyish good looks, my favorite brand of toothpaste, my favorite porno, my "Universal Remote", my need of female attention, my Peavy amplifier................
"Fuck all of it", I decided. Somewhere in the Middle-East, a devoted mother has had the spirit siphoned out of her breast when her son was MURDERED on a bus by a fanatical, crazed suicide bomber, and I.............well I'm mired in my whole-sale, commercially-driven, "All-American", crap heap. I'm letting the media necromancers give me a colon cleansing with Starbucks' newest frappucino. Nothing like allowing the Coca-Cola company to fist-fuck your grey matter with "cutting-edge" advertisement.
I can see all the pigeons in my little TreSwank noggin, watching the Superbowl, buying the Paris Hilton sex tape, purchasing "state of the art" conditoner to get rid of split ends. Yesiree.......there they go, listening to the new Madonna record, singing along to trite, manufactured, pop-music gold. It's got a good beat and you can dance to it!!!! Here they are, making futile, no balls protests in Washington, while Muslim women are being hanged way up high for fighting off attempted rapists.
I'm so sick of it all, folks. I'm tired of being a pigeon.
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