Meditation in Media-Nation

8/8/05


Followers of this blog might have noticed my postings have been a tad angry as of late. In fact my last five or six posts (Sans my very positive review of Eternal Sunshine) have been downright nasty.

But my last article about that wonderful man and terrific jurist, John Roberts, and his beautiful and adoring wife, Joan, was really the last straw.

To be honest, I was debating whether to even post it.

I felt remorse immediately after I pushed the “publish” button.

I felt guilt when I e-mailed the article link to everyone in my address book.

I was beside myself, when I forwarded the e-mail using the “Spam Generator 3000,” selecting the “Everyone who has a computer on the Eastern Seaboard” option.

After this move did not generate any “hits,” I felt just awful, when I disguised the hyper-link to my entry with the banners

12 Inch Cock Guarenteed!

and

Teen Sluts Cum For You!

I think I might have a problem with rage control.

But I can’t help it.

After all, I do have eyes and ears.

But I know my anger is starting to have a negative effect on me. I have to be careful of my blood pressure, which I take medication for so I developed a new technique in combating unhealthy vibes.

Whenever I start getting upset about something I go to "my happy place" which, in my case, is the lyrics of any number of silly pop songs that occupy some part my brain through the constant repetitive hammering the Godless, soul sucking cretan corporate radio stations...

But, I digress. My method really works. Try it for yourself.

For example if, for any reason you start to think about:

The totally ridiculous mess that is Iraq....

She was gonna be an actress
And I was gonna learn to fly
She took off to find the footlights
And I took off to find the sky

Or the fixing of the fucking Supreme court...

Baby don't you know that I love you
And I'd never put nobody above you
He could promise the moon and the stars above
Even if he promised me the world
Just remember
I'm forever your girl

The unfucking believable price of gas...

Now these fine ladies, they had a plan
They was out to meet the boys in the band
They said, "come on dudes, let's get it on"
And we proceeded to tear that hotel down
We're an American Band

The shit bags on top making profit on your misery...

In a big country
Dreams stay with you
Like a lover's voice
Fires the mountainside
Stay alive

That cock sucking, mother-fucking scum bag Bush...

No moneyman can win my love
It's sweetness that I'm thinking of.
We always hang in a Buffalo Stance
We do the dive every time we dance
I'll give you love baby not romance
I'll make a move nothing left to chance
So don't you get fresh with me

You Get The Picture
Sixth Army