We all bulk up. With bucks, or beef, or banners, or banter, or flapdoodle. From this meagre effort to amass more than we had yesterday, we drive and goad ourselves into a state of nirvana comfortably cushioned into our nests. We festoon our sanctuary with glitter not always gold. We challenge and chase our neighbours to the lowest common denominator.
Bigger screen, fatter car, my mower is lower than yours, my greener grassier then thou, my fence leaner than my geographically contiguous brother, my steak thicker than his cow. When will it end? I pass the homes of monsters in the borealis town of its skyward name and fenestrate at the size of bricked encampments and the memento size lots so small a barrow in the hands of a technician wouldn’t pass ‘tween them.
I arrive at my castle and think of how semis could pass double at the side of my mere house. Why in this world of fat and festering teens do we cobble them into our houses? It’s a cuz’in they can’t fit outside! No room! Can't catch a ball let alone toss one. If’ in you did your neighbour seven houses down would be the short receiver. Most, one or two car families indicative of empty nesters or young couples.
So I wonder. When do they ever get outside? Or are they so deathly afraid of the Hini flu, (the threat of which, as I have postulated, has passed) that they daren’t venture forth into the fresh air and greenery? Or is the grey and guts of the clay based ground too acidic or their tender tootsies? No, I think not. I know too well that these inside dwellers are those not venturing outside without clothing and footwear resembling a HazMat suit.
Boots of steel and rubber large enough to sell to Cubans as small fishing craft. No neumatico is going to trade in his 200 by 185 16 inner tube for your boots! He keeps fishing as long as the old man is around. No tubing behind recreational boats for him: just a lifestyle. And there we are with crap and crapola filling our Garaga Door covered Garages with so much stuff, other people in the world wonder what we will ever do with it all.
Wanna know? We will have a financial implosion which sets back economic growth five years and decreases employment levels to the early nineties in the past century.
Don't cry for me Argentina cuz’in I have lots of stuff already without Evita shilling out stuff to me.
Egg Nog anybody?
Mark Hull Du Calumet, first of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler.
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