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Journal l33t j03's Journal: My Cornflakes are Full of Tears 2

It is breakfast time around these parts. On days when I wake up with enough time left before I have to leave for work I sit down to a nice bowl of cereal, a Bloody Mary, and a warm mug of coffee. While I like Fruity Pebbles as much as anything else, I found a gigantic box of Corn Flakes in a clearance dumpster at Sam's Club a few days ago for $0.99. Corn Flakes taste fine and I can't argue with $0.99.

Unfortunately this morning's bowl in not soggy from exposure to just milk.

News from the morning paper is that War on Iraq is a foregone conclusion. That makes me very sad. To the point of crying out a stream of salty tears directly into the bowl of cereal below, contaminating them with all sorts of wild tear borne chemicals. Right now you are thinking that I must have grown a heart. Or risen out of my alcohol induced stupor long enough to comprehend basic human emotions. Incorrect on both fronts. I'm bawling like the baby in Eraserhead because the War on Iraq is going to last only a few weeks and I don't want to see all of this wonderful pro-and-anti-War spirit go by the wayside.

There is absolutely no better way to get into the pants of a college age wanna-be hippie girl than showing up at an anti-war rally pretending like you care. There is little I find more entertaining than listening to the endless drone of some puppet of the press as he rattles off today's list of possible Iraq sponsored Al-Quaeda attack targets that can be saved only by a swift pre-emptive strike. Many of the web forums I lurk on have an endless supply of idiot submitted posts covering all of the various aspects of the impending War on Iraq, from vitriolic, completely groundless accusations of far right wing conservatives to the naieve Aviod-War-at-all-Costs stupidity of liberalists. I eat this crap up. Every time I think my opinion of humanity has reached previously uncharted depths the world dumps a new shovel load of absolutely ununderstandable poppeycock all over me, and I relish every last ounce of the stuff. I want people to prove to me that they are idiots. I like looking down on people from my intellectual high ground. If false flagging as an anti-war protester gets me between the legs of a Texas Barbecue Festival queen who just made it out from under the iron fist of her parents by escaping to some far off campus and is now showing off her new found rebellious streak by prancing around with a "No Blood for Oil" sign, I'll be on it before you can get to the end of one of my sentences. If I actually watched the crap I would have been sad about the rule at the Oscars or Emmys or CMA awards or what the hell ever that banned the celebrities from maiking political statements, because I take great amusement in watching someone who probably owns a solid gold life size statue of himself and is wearing a shirt with a pattern uglier than the garage sale lampshade I bought when I was tripping on acid invent new words so he can tell me about how I shouldn't support the war. Hollywood can't produce anything even close to this kind of stuff on purpose. They have to wait for it to happen by accident while they are trying to be serious.

You might be appalled at my callousness. You might want to argue that I'm a heartless bastard and that I should become more politically aware, stand up for what I believe in, write big long fluffy diatribes that outline my stance as it relates to this war and post them on those web forums. Maybe I might convince a few more of my fellow internet citizens to join my side of the cause. Actually, I hope you are thinking those very thoughts. Indeed, if you are, could you please write about them? Or run into the street and put on a show about them for the closest TV camera? That way, I could watch your dumb ass on the news tonight and maybe get a chuckle at your expense. That would be a lot better than facing the reality that nothing you can think of doing will change the minds of anyone because this is an issue that runs much deeper than just US vs. Iraq. Even if you are able to change someone's mind it isn't like you or I have any choice in what is going to happen. I occupy a higher intellectual plateau than you because I don't waste my time worrying about shit I don't have any control over. While you're at home typing up a K5 submission about the latest clueless pro or anti war thing typed up by some other nitwit pseudo intellectual, I'll be passed out in the sun somewhere with 19 year old chick who eats hummus because she heard Ghandi and Jerry Garcia both liked it. I'll get her at an anti-war march, thanks very much. She'll say she hopes that she will see World Peace during her lifetime. I'll agree wholeheartedly and suggest that all it would take would be everyone working together. She'll wear a shiny electric blue thong made in China. At least she will for a little while.

I hate to see a good thing come to an end. I've been to a total of three anti-war events, and one town meeting sort of thing that was decidedly pro-war. All provided quality entertainment. I actually heard an adult use the phrase "Give Peace a Chance" and be met by significant applause. I also saw an adult go completely unchallenged after claiming that he was afraid for the safety of his children if we don't use force against Iraq. I've lost track of the number of times various quotes from long dead but still famous American Patriots were used to support one position or another, sometimes the same quote doing double duty. If one more person tells me that he would rather die than give up his "civil rights" to another Homeland Security Bill I will laugh out loud, or shoot him, one or the other. You just can't get this caliber of theater anywhere else. There has to be some large crisis dividing the nation in order to coax people off their couches and goad them into laying bare their inability to think clearly for a handful of elitists like me to use as the butt of a joke.

So, if you are reading this President Bush, keep trolling the rest of the world. Don't pull out any troops but don't start the invasion. Let this run on into mid summer at the very least. Wait until it is warm enough here in the midwest for the politically active young women to start wearing half shirts and short shorts. After I get my fill of that, do whatever the hell you feel like doing. I'll be in the woods giving my rabbit dogs some exercise, not giving a fuck.

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My Cornflakes are Full of Tears

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Don't tell me how hard you work. Tell me how much you get done. -- James J. Ling