choco mocha latte enema

I once read that coffee enemas can help cure some cancers. Well we as a society need some specificity, because the choco mocha latte enema isn’t curing ours.

Ravers complaining about oppression from police, but they were wearing hand cuffs of bright green beads long before they’re busted for smuggling homemade chemicals into hippie festivals.

We play electronic fishing games after buying and consuming a fish filet from mcdonalds, all while wearing moccasins with soles as rubber as our own, like compression-mesh-silk-under-armour with images of loincloths printed on.

Tribal skin markings reserved for special occasions are permanently etched into the skin of drunk uninspired zombies hoping to buy creativity for a hundred and fifty dollars.

Our peace pipes turn to exhaust pipes as we choke on the meaning that our lives lack, but used to run rampant in the lives of our ancestors.

And we mock hipsters and rednecks and anyone else who is naturally attracted towards self-sufficiency and a total disregard for what the silent (unless-behind-the-keyboard-of-anonymity) majority thinks.

We’ve always believed we’d behave differently in their shoes, we can talk and talk and talk, but we’ll never have to tie those laces.

And every time you look at your phone, the reflection stares back from behind the glass barrier until you’re behind the screen and it’s your reflection that wakes up in the morning, talks to your friends, and acts out your life.

We have hundred fold the amount of flash and shine of our enlightened ancestors with a hundredth of the meaning.


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