A part of me

There's a part of me that likes Amazon, the "one-click -- pop! -- it's here" phenomenon. Let the UPS guy die young. It's the same part of me that wants to drive a car instead of walk an extra block. The same part of me that sidles its fat arse up to the take-out window at Bugger King. The same part of me that listens to loud music through earbuds, surfs porn sites with one mitt, and is too effin lazy to cast a vote on election day. Who cares who fills the potholes?

It's the same part of me that cowers in fear. Fear of cancer, of Muslims, of chemicals, of spiders and snakes, of rowdy youth, of powerful women, of growing old and forgetting all the shite I never knew but only heard of, fear of The Other, whatever or whoever that is. I get the runs just thinking about all the bad shite what can befall a person. Effin lightning, for example.

I got a 401K and some loose change in a couple of bank IRAs but I can't touch it till I put on some more years, unless I take a tax penalty. Some system, huh? Those rich sons-of-bitches are getting richer on my dime while my effin muscles go slack. No wonder my neighbors have got themselves firearms. The only good fascist is the one who rules his own roost -- especially if that's all he's got. And a wall papered with losing lottery tickets.

There's a part of me that likes to lick the balls of those in power hoping to get a pat on the noggin and maybe a Rockefeller dime in return. Put enough of them effin dimes together I'll buy a hutch where to put my holiday souvenirs. My little Niagara Falls shot glass, my commemorative Graceland plate, my Liberty Bell paperweight. Let my heirs sell that shite off their irradiated lawn sometime after I'm gone.

Part of me so badly wants to wake up.