Scene:
A stark-white, windowless, fluorescently-lit, medical waiting room. A cacophony of gaseous semi-rhythmic ass-slapping fills the air with gargled-sounds and shitty-stink alike. A newly admitted and quickly-drowsing young man’s eyes roll back into his head at the thought of his upcoming admittance into this helpless colonic orchestra. Soon he too would be mindlessly curled up on his side, drunk on anesthesia, and uncontrollably farting as the result of his recently “successful” colonoscopy. How Sweet the Smell!
Category: Scenes
Scene:
A vast rotting battlefield extending far out of sight. The sky is red with fire and black with smoke. In the foreground sit a small group of well-dressed, well-fed, white men, sipping on expensive brandy and laughing at the dead. Fluttering all around them are one hundred dollar bills, some singeing with fire. One stands up and toasts to the others:”Thank God for the economics of war!”
Scene:
The year is 2050. A suburban wasteland extends far out of sight. Having used up all the “easily” accessible sources of oil, purchasing gas became all but impossible for everyone except the very rich. Mass migration out toward major cities, stripped the suburban landscape of everything not nailed down, as well as much that was, leaving behind only skeletal remains of wood and metal, loose trash, and not much more. Some of the rainier places grew forests of mulberry and maple trees, hiding much of the memory of the Age of Cheap Oil. And in the arid places, like Arizona and Southern California, the desert quickly reclaims all. It’s on a bright cloudless mid-morning day, in a lost suburb of Tuscan, we find two leisurely serpents sliding over a cool slab of cement, shaded by the partial carcass of the house that once stood there. “I don’t know about you,” hisses one to the other, “but, I’m kinda glad they’re gone.”
Scene:
A torn-up, worked-over, dead of all life, gold mining operation. One exhausted miner says to another: “Well, at least the American Dream is still alive.”
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