Thoughts via Misanthropy

By David Wolpert

Who do you think you are? Can you not see that your stilettos are digging into their                     shoulders? Your parents’ shoulders, I mean. It looks quite painful, I might add.                        Yet they grin with pride and weep with joy at your towering stature. They smile                   through the pain.

If all of our knowledge were to be stolen in one fateful night, spirited away as you             comfortably slept on layers of memory foam, I do not think you or your children                 would ever be able to gain it back. You would drive your auto until its innards                       crack and turn to dust. You would cling to what your life has become and what                      you’ve grown to need. You would expire with a low-battery warning blinking                     between seized fingers.

I keep thinking how nice it would be had medicine never existed; nature, always keeping           up with our mortality, would have not needed to invent such cruel diseases to                        keep some semblance of balance. For the sake of your home, would you rest in                      the quicksand? Shoulder to Shoulder, Hand in Hand?

No, your life in relativity to your beliefs is not the parasite but the only option                   forward that you have been given. You know no other way, and as such do not                       care to find one. There is no need, Blank Stare, for they do not put little girls in                         the electric chair. Take a deep breath as you go…

 

David Wolpert is currently majoring in nothing with a minor in bromeopathic medicine. He regrets this joke and would like it redacted immediately.

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