My friend just had to have his pet euthanized which I've only had the misfortune of doing once. I had a cat that developed a taste for anti-freeze, which ending up destroying the cats vital organs and I was forced to put the cat down. But that was the only time I personally played a role in helping a pet shuffle off this mortal coil. Most of my pets, bless their lil' hearts, did a variation on the treatment the Eskimos sometimes gave to their terminal elderly and that is shoving off into the great unknown without any intention of returning. I realize the Eskimos shoved Grandpa off on an iceberg, where as my cats simply chose somewhere other than being with me, and subjecting me to their inevitable medical bills and subsequent misery attached to the conditions those bills were addressing, to greet the grim reaper at. I respect that.
In all actuality, I've all but sworn off pets in the future. Regardless of the nature of care, the degree of attention they demand or cost, I see pet deaths as tremors in the grand death earthquakes of life and no doubt plenty lay ahead. I'd have a monkey though. Monkey's are funny, and if the pet was funny, then his death would be something I could fathom enduring. Monkey's need diapers though, so I'd have to think about that aspect before dropping the four grand monkey's will cost you. What does euthenasia have to do in relation to abhorrent quality of FM radio? I just don't know.
I don't know what popular tastes say about the country they originate in, but I have to think that China might one day consider overthrowing our country, prior to which great, intense discussions in low lit rooms with fancy tables would transpire about the logistics of such a thing. And then someone hoping to make a case for the idea would lower a screen and play a video of Will Smith's kid video (you remember the Fresh Prince? Yes, of course you liked that show. Who didn't? I mean, it was awesome. Well the Fresh Prince had several kids and one of them had a song written for her about the glories of whipping your hair back and forth) followed by a video montage of men and women trying to eat 6 saltine crackers in a minute or less. Great murmuring will ensue, with everyone wondering how the same country that generated Kerouac and Hendrix, Chaplin and The Ramones came to this? And you need only listen to the radio to hear what Elvis (not the fat one) was singing about when he said the radio is in the hands of such a lot of fools tryin' to anaesthetise the way that you feel.
I try to remain ensconced in a bubble impervious to pop culture, which is a difficult thing to maintain if you go to the gym. The gym is a crossroads of many things, horrid musical tastes, ill fitting clothes, triangular shaped men, men chomping at the bit to get naked in front of other men cause thats the sole joy and purpose of a locker room, right? And its at the gym where the likes of Will Smith's brood, Shakira, Avril, Creed and others desecrate the sanctity of my ear hymen, robbing it of its innocence. I try to offset the evil by listening to my ipod, but there's still the visual element. And I only avoid it so intently, because I'm the broken model listener. I know there's not an ounce of sincerity, nothing at stake and in the grand scheme of things, I gotta give my listening time to where its most deserved.
In all honesty though, I don't get too worked up by pop culture as I once did. I've come to realize people are retarded and lazy and willing to consume whatever in mass quantities providing the edges are rounded off and it smells nice. The faceless populace that drives pop culture reminds me of a paraplegic on their side, waiting for something to roll into its mouth. Where's this going? I'm not sure, partner. I've been sick for awhile. I need a hug. And something to make me feel warm and fuzzy. I guess whatever Lou Reed took to make himself feel warm and fuzzy. Peace out readers. Keep on keeping on.
Yer potentially virally infected friend, LMF
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