There is a town in China with blood-splattered streets and birthday cheer — the new classwar has begun
It was a usual Monday morning: I awoke to the distant ringing in my ears and filled with the enthusiasm of a 50-pound sack of sugar. I stood and stretched out the weekend’s overkill, felt the sandpaper roughage of my tongue work across my palate. Hardened drool had frozen the right side of my mouth into a half-cooked smile, making me look like I got jumped by botox-wielding thugs in the middle of the night. Ho-fucking-hum, for lack of a better term.
I stumbled downstairs, determined to fix this world with a jolt of coffee and maybe a face-plant into the ice tray. First things first. There is an order one must follow. And so, standing in front of my all-chromed-out Coffeemate, I pondered such lackluster, such inability to grab the excitement-center of this world here before me.
I slugged back the mug, let the fast shock of caffeine dance behind my eyes. And like a superhero racing to save the city, I sprinted to my computer. After all, it was time to do the ol’ morning-email-check, that usual ritual that gets things moving.
Deep within me, though, that pesky hopelessness lingered. It was as though I had swallowed two bloodthirsty UFC fighters, and they were battling it out in the final round. Scratch that. It was as though I had swallowed a Chinese city whose new American-owned factory had just divided the rich and the poor, had set the imbalanced classes to battle.
And just when I thought all was lost, the friendly folk at Google reminded me that indeed there is a reason to be merry, a reason to celebrate, a reason to punish thy body. And thank the master on high, for I had just run out of reasons to fellate the bottle.
But the bigger worry to this whole morning’s start is why on this green earth am I reminding myself of my own birthday? Hoo-ah. There will be time for this later. As for now: Happy Birthday to me. It’ll be a good day. So sing it. Sing it loud.
3 years ago