Sunday golf reduces StreSS

 Jesus H. Christ, the alleged prophet of Allah, died some time this week a couple millennia ago. Reportedly, Charlie Murphy died from leukemia, also this week, according to legitimate news on a Facebook feed. Although the next question transmitting in memetic form through the minds of an entire kitchen staff manifests as tangentially focused on mortality, specifically wondering about a global statistical comparison of shark attacks in prisons versus bear attacks in elementary schools, which according to google seems to indicate identical occurrences of never. However, it has been empirically determined that firearms do not protect people from bears, that rather a bear-mace-pepper-spray substance proves actually effective. Yet inevitably Cancer consumes life, while simultaneously Epimemetics remain ceaselessly existent, lying dormant in stories already recorded. 

Concurrently, President Trump walks in front of the White House Rose Garden colonnade, apparently dying, slowly of stress for newspaper photographs. 

pontificating Doctor Death: a parable of jesus H.Christ

pontificating Doctor Death: a parable of jesus H.Christ

The Apologue of the Apoplectic Raconteur
Playing the mandoline with a radish, while revealing the illusionary properties of the federal reserve to secret service agents creates an obstreperous ambiance, which in turn alarms the piles of rubber-band-wrapped, paper money kept clandestine behind forged expressionist paintings, bought by the ignorance of business men. The paintings hang crooked over an unsterilized operating table, where the late doctor Kevorkian, being fitted for a loosely tailored stem cell skin suit, overhears the key phrase “communist alligators 4 Isis Christ “, causing him to end the procedure abruptly, buttoning up a long sleeve imitation mustard colored Hawaiian shirt in order to conceal Recrementitious organs constructed from vinyl hot dog skins. The phrase simultaneously drained all cellphones of 48% battery life, killing 35% of the phones inside the building.

 

The man in the Kevorkian skin suit Approaches furtively before militating his presence by

Lightning a Cuban cigar rolled with a mixture of black tar heroin & coca leaves as he orates a dissertation of excoriating sophistry

“All these broken windows have invoked demonic vices within the confines of this fluorescent lit room…” the words fade into monotony as he proceeds to captiously pontificate tangential blather, citing the names of the 26 most influential celebrity representatives of the south side of Chicago in reverse chronological order, beginning with chief keef, followed by Kanye west, appending Oprah as an honorable mention before unveiling “shoeless” joe Jackson as Chi-town’s historical public enemy number one,

since

 

“employees capitalizing on their own merits without the recorded verbal consent of their owners, conflicts with the new euphemistic liberties of American citizens, who need to follow proper patent laws & copyright regulations.”

 

The speedball infested cigarillo burned into a roach as the fallacious apologue ended abruptly, interrupted by the ringtone of a phone call from an anonymous number with a congratulatory automated proclamation:

 

“You may already have won the rights to download all unclassified government documents in pdf format, including while not limited to;

Insufficient funds as determined by your bank statements. To reveal the amount of currency not available please submit a convenience fee of approximately three dollars …”

 

The message gets distorted as a raccoon-looking-virtual rodent with bloodshot eyes runs across the cutting board, sieging

Full access to my google account, contracting all of my debts through the collection agency which had recently purchased them. The debts included automobile payments never made on a vehicle currently owned by an independently managed junk yard, which is being guarded by an oversized hybrid turkey possessing dinosaur teeth, which he used to feast on the organs of the previous inhabitants, a pack of wild pit bulls.

 

Predetermined factors cause my nicotine cravings to take full effect. Leaving the confines of my work station i exit uniVerse A & enter into uniVerse B, lighting a Newport while simultaneously inhaling a peanut butter & banana sandwich, only to be interrupted by another coworker,

“Elvis Presley’s favorite sandwich was peanut butter & banana,” the candidate for early retirement misinformed me.

 

(The second portion of the conversation concludes at a local plastic manufacturing plant a decade prior ).

 

“Actually the overweight Memphis junky ate peanut butter, banana & bacon sandwiches. often with honey,” I stated,Trying to sublimate the dialogue rather unsuccessfully as I begin bloviating about the arcane history of peanut butter instead, beginning with the Aztecs, concluding with the annual Jiff sandwich competition juxtaposed against the “Uncle Tom” work of George Washington Carver, before realizing the apoplectic nature of my demeanor, causing me to light another cigarette, committing the only form of assisted suicide permitted in the commonwealth.

 

Satiating my nicotine craving I Watch smoke spiraling into fractals, which contain various images of Aztec architects chewing coca leaves while performing math at accelerated rates, all of which inspires me to misanthropically March into the office, turning in my written notice of resignation, effective precisely 2.7 years from the date of signature, citing the pursuit of designing sculptural stairways for the 7-eleven corporation as my reason. Afterwards I simply

Return to the line in uniVerse A, where

I promptly return an unlabeled 6th pan of thin sliced radishes to a shelf located in a walk-in cooler box in order for the cut produce to be held at a chilled temperature for less than 48hrs, a time of significance to federal bureaucrats, whose primary job function is “looking out for the best interest of the American people “, while collecting exorbitant salaries along the way.

 

Upon my immediate return to my scheduled station:

“Mind your P’s &Q’s “my supervisor informs with the hubris of a grammar nazi, offering no further explanation as to the significance of the phrase.

 

“I’m writing in the metric system, so Pints & quarts do not apply in this scenario,” I state,

 

while sketching rudimentary blue prints of a stairway resembling an oversized shopping cart, tipped onto its side, complete with handrails made from the aluminum cans of energy drinks.

 

“The thing about grammar nazis is that they’re almost like regular nazis, arbitrarily enforcing a compartmentalization of esoteric rules and regulations, except regular nazis wear suits,” I conclude.

 

“People respect suits for sacrificing their individuality,” the stem cell suit super boss disclosed, while exhaling smoke rings from the last cinders of a Cuban leaf wrapped speed ball.

 

Inevitably darkness settled.

Cicadas communicate a harmonious concordance, telling the saga of a fungi lead zombie apocalypse unfolding during our present existence amidst the ending days of summer, while neighborhood kids start fires on the sidewalk along residential streets located behind commercial shopping centers, reassuring the local community that youthful imagination still exists.

iCan’t make this shyt Up, iWrite4Yelp #now 


if u find yourself on the north end of atherton street after 11:11 with no car, Denny’s is one of the only options for food NoT made by McDonald’s or a gas station, the reason Nicole (last name unknown) & i found ourselves being seated by an artificially affable waitress, more interested in reading the local newspaper at the bar counter than making sure Nicole got a salad, which she thought came included with the egg skillet she ordered, when apparently it does not, although the server did unintentionally provide dinner entertainment when she proceeded to seat a couple at the booth connected to ours in an otherwise empty restaurant. 
“Can we have any other table so I don’t feel crowded?” The monster energy hat wearing gentleman asks, almost inaudibly. ” i m sorry, I just don’t want to feel crowded in an empty restaurant.”
The waitress responds to His request with disingenuous eyes of hospitality. 
“Just any other table.” He pleads. 
As she directs the couple to another table, I put my perfectly cooked grand slamwhich down next to my nicely golden toasted hash browns, outraged by his comments of blatant disregard for my comfort as a fellow patron, i announce aloud to the room, 
“I feel personally insulted right now, as though my very existence is an inconvenience. Like I’m less of a person & now i also wish to be moved, most preferably to one of the already closed sections of the restaurant.”
“Well I would prefer a booth with a window view of the road, specifically the one right next to that couple over by that window,” Nicole exclaims, desiring a new table on the exact opposite end of where I am pointing towards. 
The waitress, unqualified to handle situations like the one currently unfolding, returns to reading the astrology section of the paper as Nicole & i debate over which piece of Artwork we would rather be sitting closer to, while The other couple lean closer together, speaking in conspiring whispers, undoubtedly planning a natural catastrophe capable of undermining national security by embezzling billions of National Flood Insurance money through the Federal Disaster Assistance program, according to the episode of PBS Frontline, streaming over the free wifi provided by Denny’s. 
My bloodshot eyes convey the message to our server, identifying the other customers as obvious terrorist, notifying her that my partner & i were on a stakeout, requiring Apple crisp to keep our true intentions incognito. 
She follows instructions, awkwardly smiling, filling up our glasses with plenty of water before returning with a check and two Apple crisp, containing a generous portion of crust topping. 
Overall the docile etiquette of service conflicts with my personal philosophy about work as a systematic orchestration designed to oppress the employee’s soul, perpetuating the state of hopeless poverty necessary to keep middle aged women reading 5 page newspapers over the course of an 8 hour graveyard shift for $2.85 an hour plus the generosity of 20% on a bill comprised of $2 meal items. I left smoking a Newport, questioning American values. “Where is the humanity?” I ask myself, wondering why my waitress lacked despondency, the natural human condition created by the alienated disconnection of a capitalist society.