Mass killing.
Guns.
Knives.
Bombs.
Virus.
Mosquitoes.
Mosquitoes?
There are forty-three less hikers in Colorado alone this year that would LOVE to beg to differ, but they can’t.
They’re dead.
Done in by mosquitoes.
In 1966, under the summer lights of our Little League baseball games, I would stand in center field where the brightest lights and hordes of mosquitoes liked to gather in a swampy Louisiana night.
Mom would spend a full five minutes and an entire can of OFF! as she soaked first: my socks, then the over stocking, pants, undershirt, uniform top and even the cap.
I would still get eaten to the point of drawing blood over the course of a full game.
Now, go back to 1962.
Despite nightly summer DDT-spraying trucks billowing clouds of the carcinogenic insecticide down every street of Tachikawa Air Force Base, my Mom would find that I was bitten by huge Japanese mosquitoes through the screens of our windows, dotting my sheets with little red pinpricks of blood.
Surfing communities in my home state are not cool with E-bikes.
I can see how that convo went:
“Dude.”
“Dude.”
“E-bikes suck brah.”
“Dude.”
No wonder nothing ever happens in California.
That supreme douchebag Antony Blinken has proclaimed that “Israel cannot reoccupy Gaza at the end of the war.”
Just how stupid are you?
Wait, you’re not even qualified to answer.
First of all, there won’t be much use for a burnt-out shell of a civilization still crawling out of the Stone Age which is where the Israeli missiles are sending this piece of diseased land.
And you won’t even be an afterthought IF and WHEN this latest vendetta is completed.
I saw a blurb about what the world will look like in the year 2100 and I realized I won’t be here for whatever it is the world will look like.
I’ll be long gone.
That’s a weird feeling.
Let’s see…
When I came in to this world, it was less than a decade when Hitler turned the world upside-down.
Every so often, certainly not as often as it used to happen, the Domestic Despot will walk up to me with that now all-too-familiar look.
On this occasion, she was holding a box that I was supposed to be sending back my old phone in, but the box was missing a big bite-mark out of the top.
I answered her quizzical eyebrow-raising with my defense.
“It had to learn. I had to teach it a lesson.”
She spends the next ten minutes railing at innocent moi as the words come and go, miraculously not loud enough for my auditory system to pick up.
Things like, “How old ARE you? It’s a fucking BOX! All you had to do was fold the flaps! Are you TOTALLY INSANE?”
Things like that.
So I let the diatribe continue.
When she is done, when she has exhausted every last word anywhere close to stupid, I roll my eyes and address her:
“I have never taken shit from inanimate objects and I never will. So let it be written. So let it be done.”
Easy to see why we’ve been together since July 4th weekend of 1985.
Here’s something to think about…
The film Soylent Green, starring Charlton Heston and Edward G. Robinson, was supposed to be set in the year 2022.
Stay well.
