...of fear and loathing, that is! Donald Trump and Kim Jong-Un are do-si-do-ing alongside the nuclear precipice that drops off to the abyss of World War III; the Yellowstone Caldera's pregnant with 240 cubic miles of Gaia's bastard children, while closer to home the Juan de Fuca plate is expected to annihilate the Pacific Northwest in a paroxysm of tectonic fury; and, well, even if none of that occurs there's always China casting its shadow over the future. Good times, indeed! Anyone who isn't choking on ash or having his organs sold to Party members will languish starving and disease-infested in a bleak nightmare desolation that will make Mad Max's Outback look like a weekend at Macau. And to think, for a while there I thought The End would be so kind as to transpire after my death.
"So, Corwin, what's up with Effin' Plastic?" you're not asking me, right? Watch America 3000, another one of the best worst movies ever to grace the proliferate low-budget post-apocalyptic fare. "Effin' plastic!" roughly translates as "Fucking great!" and is how I'm sure most decent folk with brains respond to every drop of bad news that falls from the carcass of Human Destiny, impaled on the World Tree years hence — yet distressingly present in portent. This used to be my Welfare Hotel blog, but since I'll probably end up dying on the streets I no longer feel that's an appropriate title for a blog that's all about living desperately on a world that's been on its last legs ever since the formation of insurance companies and stock markets.
Pretty negative, eh? I can only smirk at how quailing and dim-witted a person must be to embrace credulity and delusion in order to get out of bed in the morning; I have more respect for an embittered derelict, who for all his tiresome vitriol isn't blind to the rain in the clouds. How did Americans, who used to be tough-as-nails pioneers and bandits, become such self-gratifying pusillanimous shirkers? Not this cowboy! I respond appropriately to the donkey when he kicks me in the nuts, I don't project soft vibes whilst gasping out positive affirmations! And I'm still getting out of bed and doing my daily thing, my blood pressure's great, and my neighbor's cat still thinks I'm the coolest ever. Not only am I doing just fine, I also won't get broad-sided by the Dutchman when it finally slips through the fog.
Which I'll tell you all about; I'll regale you with tales from the outskirts of Sheol. I'm living in what will likely be one of the last remaining bastions of some sort of civilization, when the dark waters of Doom crest over our miserable masses. lol Unless of course the Juan de Fuca plate decides to bury me alive in my unreinforced masonry building ... that local lobbyists are busily encouraging city hall not to seismically upgrade. (Fucking businessmen!)
