An Early Morning Treatise

I don’t waste a lot of ink on my signature. I find that women enjoy to scribble their entire names, in a legible fashion, whilst men just sort of caveman that shit and give zero fucks whether you could read it or not. This topic, as well as many others, are “serious debate” issues at House Fly. I feel, as a member of a class of people who are interested in seeing the planet’s annihilation, that wasting ink on a simple signature, whether it be on a declaration of war or surrender,  is gratuitous and represents everything that is wrong in the world today.

I know you see the futures higher and ponder about “this crazy man on the blog talking about ink”, also wondering when I will begin to rant and rave about shorts being idly tossed into garbage compactors and recycled back into the matrix. I will not, as a point in fact.

Le Fly hates all people, equally, some more equal than others (extra Animal Farm). It’s sad that so many of you never pick up on my literary references. You choose to live moribund lives, transfixed on the goggle box, wasting away without any semblance of dignity or decorum.

In this finite life time of yours, you have so many things to do, most of which do not entail spending inordinate amounts of money. Instead of evolving, you continue to devolve, animalistically,  into wanton degeneracy. I am just one man, a glimmer of hope in a dark, cruel, sea of hopelessness.

Thank God for Orbital Space Cannons (OSC) and mass extinction events. Let the markets run free and bestow its gifts upon the initiated and breathe the fires of hell unto those of you running about the park clad in burlap, adult sized, onesies.