INTO THE VOID

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by Joe Buonfiglio

We humans are unable to deal with the empty holes in our lives; “voids,” if you will. We fill the voids prior to birth and after death with explanation we weave out of the vast compilation of tales we collectively refer to as “religion.”

The voids during life we fill with doughnuts.

Preferably chocolate-glazed.

However, lately we have not only stepped from the platform at Void Station onto the express train to Crazytown, we’ve all gone off the proverbial rails themselves. In the process, we’ve not only intentionally reached out to touch the cosmic third rail of existence; we’ve moistened our metaphoric tongue and given it a good lick, too. I guess there are only so many voids that can be satisfied with God and a jelly-filled.

Not sure what I mean by all that esoterically existential flapdoodle? Try this:

Our solution to gun violence is to buy more guns on a societal level. We want to solve problems with other nations not with more diplomatic relations, but with isolationism; we talk of building walls between countries and carpet-bombing our way to safety. We don’t care about our fellow humans; we just want to make sure we get what’s coming to us. We roll back education and environmental protection as if billionaires and wildcat frackers are our friends, and teachers and glaciers are our enemies. Some of us seek to take over the world through acts of excessive violence upon the innocent. Self-serving madmen are the new leaders to admire and emulate; moving us deeper into the potential for nuclear mayhem, not farther away. We find new categories of the suppressed and disenfranchised upon which to impose a new breed of Jim Crow mentality. Hate is the new kindness. Selfishness the new love. Greed the new ideal to be held in reverence. Fear the new driver.

In short, we’ve become utter assholes.

Oh, not all of us, of course, just the ones holding most of the power and the Army of the Dumbasses who are their willing recruits. The promise of the meek inheriting the Earth was either total bullshit or it just faded away quicker than my interest in watching a round of golf on TV.

It is my sincere hope that we can use Jurassic Park technology to reintroduce the one-eyed, one-horned flyin’ Purple People Eater species back onto the planet, because…

IT’S TIME FOR THE HUMAN RACE TO GO!

A-bye-bye. See-ya’. Sayonara. It was fun, but the fun is done!

We just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could we? The voids in our lives are currently being filled with a completely new kind of nuts, and I don’t mean filberts.

God — should He-She-It actually exist — right about now must be thinking, “You know, I’ve got some perfectly good cockroaches down there just dying for their chance at bat.”

So goodbye to Yellow Brick Road, Mr. Chips and probably my testicles; we go out not with a whimper, but one obnoxiously loud bang courtesy of Kim Jong-un or Vladimir Putin or whatever Insane Fucker Du Jour is threatening to bring down our Little Global Shop of Horrors by the time you read this.

As for me, I’m going to fill my doughnut hole and any other willing orifice with as many of the eponymous fried confectionery treats as I can in the hopes that I pop like a tick overly gorged with blood from the ass of a rabid raccoon. Because, my fellow people of Earth, I want to exit this mortal coil on my terms before the collective monsoon of dipshits that is humankind engages in what I’m sure will be a spectacular, if but asinine final act of self-annihilation.

Now hand me those sugar-sprinkles; this doughnut ain’t gonna decorate itself.

 

© 2016 Joseph P. Buonfiglio     All Rights Reserved.

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