Life on Earth: A Consumer's Report
You know, PR and advertising are amazing devices.
I'm pretty sure the last words I heard before incarnating into the cramped middle seat in the smoking section that was my mother's womb, were "Trust me."
When this excursion is over, I'm going to sue somebody. Somebody is going to pay for the travesty that has been my life. I want my money back, with an apology, AND store credit. And just in case I get to thinking about "oh, the food was so good," or "I miss getting dressed and picking out lipstick," I want it in writing that I will have creative control over any future incarnations. Which means I get to say how much hair grows and where, and I won't have to wait until I'm in my thirties before I have a freakin' clue about anything. And as much as I love my parents, next time, I'd rather not swim in a gene pool rife with dysfunction, mental illness, and criminal urges.
Next time--if there is a next time--I'll know what to ask for and I'll get it in writing--with a witness. Because I'm not going through this again. I'm done with loss and grief, through with struggle and failure, and I have absolutely had it with skin problems and allergies.
You're showing me the fine print next time, O Supreme Universal Life Force. You're gonna lay it all out for me or there's no deal. Got it? You've swindeled me out of 40 years so far. 40 fucking years. You're having a good laugh at my expense, aren't you? Go ahead and laugh now, 'cause when I get back, you are going to be in some deep etherial legal shit. I will wipe up the whole astral plane with your lying ass.
And we'll be having a little discussion about accurate labeling. I'll bet I'm not the only unsuspecting soul who had a little trouble matching up my life on earth to the pictures in the brochure. Where's all the happy, smiling people? Where's the sensual bliss and the good rides with the short lines? This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife. Sounds like David Byrne got ripped off too. And if you'll screw with a genius like Byrne, who won't you fuck with?
Hmm...what are the voices in my head trying to tell me? Sounds like they're saying Class action...class action...class action!
Oh yeah, I would have liked a heads up about all the damn boredom. Years and years of inertia and stagnation and white noise. Funny, I don't remember any disclaimer or warning about the pervasive ennui here on earth. Is somebody working on this? Hello? Creator, are you ignoring me? I want to speak to your supervisor.
And about the supposed 'lessons' we're supposed to learn here. I'm guessing if you buy a ticket to come back, you haven't learned the lesson, which is that life on earth is for suckers.
Well I've learned that lesson. Punch my ticket and get me the hell out of here.
Cindy
I'm pretty sure the last words I heard before incarnating into the cramped middle seat in the smoking section that was my mother's womb, were "Trust me."
When this excursion is over, I'm going to sue somebody. Somebody is going to pay for the travesty that has been my life. I want my money back, with an apology, AND store credit. And just in case I get to thinking about "oh, the food was so good," or "I miss getting dressed and picking out lipstick," I want it in writing that I will have creative control over any future incarnations. Which means I get to say how much hair grows and where, and I won't have to wait until I'm in my thirties before I have a freakin' clue about anything. And as much as I love my parents, next time, I'd rather not swim in a gene pool rife with dysfunction, mental illness, and criminal urges.
Next time--if there is a next time--I'll know what to ask for and I'll get it in writing--with a witness. Because I'm not going through this again. I'm done with loss and grief, through with struggle and failure, and I have absolutely had it with skin problems and allergies.
You're showing me the fine print next time, O Supreme Universal Life Force. You're gonna lay it all out for me or there's no deal. Got it? You've swindeled me out of 40 years so far. 40 fucking years. You're having a good laugh at my expense, aren't you? Go ahead and laugh now, 'cause when I get back, you are going to be in some deep etherial legal shit. I will wipe up the whole astral plane with your lying ass.
And we'll be having a little discussion about accurate labeling. I'll bet I'm not the only unsuspecting soul who had a little trouble matching up my life on earth to the pictures in the brochure. Where's all the happy, smiling people? Where's the sensual bliss and the good rides with the short lines? This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife. Sounds like David Byrne got ripped off too. And if you'll screw with a genius like Byrne, who won't you fuck with?
Hmm...what are the voices in my head trying to tell me? Sounds like they're saying Class action...class action...class action!
Oh yeah, I would have liked a heads up about all the damn boredom. Years and years of inertia and stagnation and white noise. Funny, I don't remember any disclaimer or warning about the pervasive ennui here on earth. Is somebody working on this? Hello? Creator, are you ignoring me? I want to speak to your supervisor.
And about the supposed 'lessons' we're supposed to learn here. I'm guessing if you buy a ticket to come back, you haven't learned the lesson, which is that life on earth is for suckers.
Well I've learned that lesson. Punch my ticket and get me the hell out of here.
Cindy
posted by Cindy St. Onge at 11:33 PM
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