Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Death Or Glory

Every morning I basically run with the bulls at Pamplona. The truckers call Interstate 20 "The Highway of Death" and to get to that highway I have to dodge coyotes, trucks and roadrunners and raccoons while my man tits jiggle courtesy of the hormones injected into my fake pork sandwich at the truck stop where my meals are paid for by big oil.
The fire department was too busy with a major tanker truck accident a mere mile east from here to put this minor fire out.
 I was trying to find a job site and I called for help and these were the directions...

"You see the smoke?"
"We're a mile east of there."
"Ok. Who died?"
"No one I know."

This Clash song isn't about the oil field, it's actually a clever song dedicated to youthful braggadocio.

I was stuck behind a funeral procession for a dead trucker and I was peeling out in the dirt looking for an alternative route..."Motherfucker had to get buried today?" I yelled unsympathetically. "Oil Never Sleeps" is my new motto.
I've seen the light of how ignorant and self centered the generic populace is to allow this exploitation to go on and then condemn men living in vans preaching simplicity. Finally, I'm selfish like the rest of America, eating half a sandwich and throwing it away because I'm full, since it's paid for by someone else it's like I can shrug off any responsibility. Handjob afternoons and kiss the wife goodnight. My principles are on sale in Aisle 3 with the bulk Chex mix. Like children we defend ourselves from our biggest fears with self deception and numb ourselves with calories and alcohol. A generation of Fox news pawns with augmented reality glasses to replace the real reality that includes how their sand castle virtues are being swept away with the latest celebrity cellulite story. It's laughable, but accepting the truth would cause chaos so the apathetic stupor of drugs is the best alternative we have. Generic zombies watching international news that looks more and more like "America's Funniest Home Videos" Energy is my goal and if the Super Bowl game uses more energy than Haiti then I guess that's why God chose America to embrace.

The Clash were working class rockers. They didn't hide their accents and never cleaned up their act. They died with needles in their arm.
I love The Clash because they never let success get in the way of their disdain for the world.

"Now every cheap hood strikes a bargain with the world,
Ends up making payments on a sofa or a girl.
Love 'n hate tattooed across the knuckles of his hands,
 Hands that slap his kids around, 'cause they don't understand how,
 Death or glory, becomes just another story.
Death or glory, becomes just another story. "
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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.