As i sit on the 57, the 91, the 60, or the 101 in that typical excruciating l.a. crawl, the chorus from Bob Dylan's "Idiot Wind" starts echoing in my head. I feel like one large dunce for being in this parking lot of road rage freaks, charged off lattes and not being able to clutch their never-ending vibrating cell phones.
I hate gas, and hell I have a hybrid. This experiment of allowing primates to run our human species has gone on long enough, and if the blood wasn't enough to get you pissed, I'm sure that crude oil might start clogging your arteries soon enough, slowly closing the capillaries, until you hunch over in a painful gas-priced induced migraine.
This administration's jokes have worn me weary, and in these times of reversed animal testing, where we are subjected to new foreign policies, taxes, costs, and wars, I am really waiting for the day that old George retired to his fecal farm.
What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, bikes. They are sweet. End of story(well only if you choose not to click this story from the LA Times).
No comments:
Post a Comment