Shit's like a carpet bomb of invisible dandelions in the oxygen outside.

Even when you don't see it, you damn well feel it. Can you? When you're out, do you feel that back-and-forth firecracker flash dogfight happening between what's real and what's bullshit?

I see a man, a big guy, casually talking about his wife in a way that makes it seem like he's describing a sentient anus inspection machine. This guy looks like he could give Shamu the Heimlich, and I've never even seen his wife, but I know she's got his balls halfway down the tube of a vacuum cleaner all the way from home.

I catch onto shit tests like a triangulated infared laser now, and sometimes, I almost have to stop myself from offering unsolicited advice to a guy who bombs with some chick at the cash register. Older guys, younger, doesn't matter. All I can do is hope they make their way here in one piece.

And the Top 40 music? Forget about it. It's like I hear the genre "pop" and there's a browser plug-in in my brain that changes it to "hamster". I don't know if some of these guys are dark triad geniuses playing just the right kind of fiddle to summon basic bitches, or legitimately believe what they sing.

Basically, what I'm saying is that Bruno Mars is either the most unfortunate bastard to ever get a hit song or a brilliant psychopath.

I think, how can it all be so thorough? Are we really so off course, or is this just the new flavor of natural selection? I'm far past angry, but it never ceases to amaze me how easy it is to "sense" now just by being out and about.