Thursday, July 14, 2005
rabblerabblerabble
A psychoanalyst would have you believing your troubles can all melt away if you could just dip into the repressed thoughts and release them, much like how one would cast a pigeon to the sky.
If you sought the help of a chiropractor, he would have you convinced your pain is due to a misaligned disc in your spine. Mirrors protrude from his shoulders like wings, and his ears hiss smoke as he presses into your back, not simply cracking your joints. Oh no, he's applying that quarter-million dollar diploma to your spine. What's that sound you ask? Why, that's the sound of success! What? Fix it? Oh no, come see me again in two weeks, and leave your wallet at the receptionist as you depart.
The Pope tells us homosexuals are sinners. That some books should never have been published. Should never be read. And maybe he's right? Maybe we should just elect him to head the censorship committee for all national broadcasts. So long as he wears his robe, wields his arcane staff, and waves his right hand he can't go wrong. His word is Divine, which also just happens to be another word.
And maybe you're just plain susceptible. Maybe Bush has you truly believing terrorists are to blame for your satellite dish malfunction. For your health issues and your bad marriage. Your misbehaving children, and the social trauma brought upon you by your peers.
It's late, I'm tired. I don't even know anymore. What was my point?
