It started with Captain America. Never liked the guy. Marvel put too much Superman in their Batman. The pinnacle of man was nothing but a metaphor for a war time American exceptionalism.
But there he was. Over and over. And over again. Fucker started to stick in my mind like a millennial whoop.
I realize I am at a crossroads.
We are at a crossroads.
The American Dream died in Las Vegas in the seventies. 999 happy haunts hold ghoulish glimmers of its glory in sacred sites across the earth.
The banks and their marketing teams hid the remains of the dream in otherwise empty vaults. They snatched them away while the hippies and other boomer detritus were shaking the cobwebs from their over-drugged brains.
By the time the Boomers came to, the banks owned their sorry asses.
So they hated their kids just like their parents, but they candy-coated it with lawyers and self-aggrandizement and self-help and self-realization and self-actualization.
And we all unhinged our jaws. The only explanation for why they don’t drop to the floor watching the global social spectacle.
Too busy swallowing all the bullshit whole…