Here’s a photo from a dictionary and artwork from a tissue box.
Those who interviewed me for the various jobs that I’ve held in my life either failed to grasp that I didn’t really want to work at those places, or they couldn’t care less that I was seeking employment solely on account of…
There’s no way I can end that sentence right. What I’m trying to say is that I never wanted to be one of those souls who is forced to work in order to feed my family. I assume that you can avoid this pitfall by simply choosing not to procreate. Until now, it has worked. But who knows what misery tomorrow brings. I’m not broaching this subject because I’m worried about being waylaid with a paternity test; it was on my mind because I just overheard a comedian say that it’s hard on kids when parents get divorced; unless you’re childless, in which case it doesn’t matter: so have at it.
But if the purpose of marriage is ONLY to raise children, then what? I’d like to think that lovers choose to share life for at least one reason beyond…
More truly, I know – I don’t just think but I know with a surety – that people are purposeless: that’s why I’ll never concede that we’re unimportant. We make our own luck. Find yourself naked and build an A-bomb.
We see apes as our ancestors, and we’re proud of our progression: We still live like them, which is to say we still war like them, but at least we have less fur. So why does my boss complain of being “bald” – isn’t that the goal? After subduing most of our bodily hair follicles, we rose from ape to man; now if we shed the remaining follicles, we’ll leap from man to god. All this proves that my boss is a hotbed of solecism: for he still possesses sideburns, eyelashes and eyebrows. Whereas I have the upper body of a prepubescent angel.
Yes, we made a grave mistake by divorcing our fossil hominids. Being our own children, the split really threw us for a loop. We failed to heed the upshot: A fancier brain means more responsibility. Now our family tree’s new branch is thicker than its trunk.
Unto Adam also and to his wife did the LORD God make coats of skins, and clothed them. (Genesis 3:21)
Now consider: If humankind hadn’t shaved off its ape costume, then skin color would never be a problem, because it’d remain unseen.
On second thought, however, the textures and styles of coats would probably cause the same divisiveness that skin does currently. And people would tint their fur and add glitters and mousse or bowties, to show their allegiance to Nike or Sony (names of outmoded gods).
And I was thinking about this the other day, while walking down the street after a rainfall: White people should be called worm people, because the tone of their skin is more wormy than white – I mean the color of worms. Go out after a storm and cradle one for yourself, before assuming I’m wrong. They’re pale, gray-pinkish; somewhat glossy. At least that’s how they appear in my neck of the woods.