Another evening in my CaRV(TM). Another Walmart sunrise. The mobile homeless dot the parking lot. Their engines begin to rattle to life as their owners return from the restrooms in the bowels of Sam Walton’s useful abomination. Sam Walton was a shadow agent, leading the insurgency for Chairman Mao. Like a skilled Judo master redirecting the force of his opponent’s punch, Sam set the plan in motion, using the weight of capitalism to destroy itself. Dog-loving, pickup-truck-driving bastard.
Lapping the aisles 10 times for my morning workout & watching the tragically overweight, disability-funded Need-A-Bathletes, searching for the latest As-Seen-On-TV neccessity (to live the good life)… I can’t stop myself from thinking of languid, indolent cattle, grazing in the fields. No effort. Everything they’ll ever need, right in front of them. Oblivious to their impending slaughter. These shoppers shop like it’s their job. Not a care in the world. No thoughts deeper than the mist of perspiration dampening their 3rd chins.
Without adversity, there is no progress. There’s just no need.
With my fractured brain, I make out my daily to-do list in my head. Meanwhile, oblivious to their roles as pawns in the insurgency, the shoppers continue shopping.
I am one of them.