Thursday, 27 September 2012


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I just received a beautiful card from a lady here on my computer. It wished me to have a beautiful and rewarding day. What a wonderful gesture, and to receive it first thing in the morning with her heart-felt well-wishes for my day sent chills up and down my spine.

Just who are the people that make up these fairy-god-mother greeting cards AND, just what the fuck are they smoking? Can I get some of that shit?

You know the cards I'm talking about: there is the beautiful Earth Mother type chick in billowing white chiffon gown; she is wearing a garland of spring flowers in her hair (they always have spring flowers in their hair); she is seated on a velvet throne, out in the woods, by a beautiful lake; she sits transfixed, watching the tadpoles metamorphose or some such happy horse shit; then she picks up a mushroom and sniffs it, and next looks dreamily towards the viewer and says, "Even fungus is beautiful in my world."

Well, of course it is you horse's ass; that is a psilocybin mushroom! You just inhaled a toxic dose of happy-spoors up your snout!

Wood nymphs, all smiley, ever-optimistic freaks of nature, AND their asshole-buddies with their perpetually-sunny outlooks on life, are not inhabitants of my little corner of the universe! All is not going to turn out well today; it never does. If they really wanted to promote reality they would write cards that say, "You are going to get shit on today. Deal with it!"

I'd like to take a bunch of those smarmy, sucrose-exuding, greeting cards frittering dickweeds and feed them a dose of their OWN reality. I'd take their product, the cards, and grind them up and add a little ready-mix concrete to them, and form suppositories out of the mixture, and sell the product as "Sun-Shine Pellets."

Next, I'd get some silly shit celebrity to hawk them as a cure for Fecal Myopia (a shitty outlook on life).

"You simply must try this product," he'd say.

"It will cure everything nasty in your world. Stick this up your ass and the sun will shine there!"

Then the greeting cards writers and their enthusiasts--millions of people--would stick my Sun-Shine Pellets up their asses. I'd get rich; they'd get constipated and die, die, die.

Never again, would anyone buy another of those fucking cards, or send them to a depressed person like me, thereby causing me to want to kill myself, or a movie theatre full of Batman fans. Possessing, or just sending even one of those cards would result in the death penalty, immediately carried out, with no appeal.

Don't get me wrong. I hope against all odds that you will have a fine day. You won't, but I do wish you would.

So, please, have a beautiful, up-lifting, and glorious day! Don't step in any shit, mind you. But if you happen to stumble, and fall into a pile of dog shit along today's highway, just smile and say, "Even dog shit is beautiful in my world."

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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Topics: optimism
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