Dirtbags

Are my choices really between just, dirtbags and whores?

No. In my experience whores tend to own their business practices, feel centered in their anarchical trade.

Whores don’t pretend to be doing something acceptable, lie to themselves about their worth based on a predetermined and a socially acceptable value system, and perpetuate lies and mistrust to make a name for themselves. They come out, breasts and balls blaring, smiling through the sweet smell of victory over indecent rules and judicial practices.

No, my choices are between dirtbags and bureaucrats. Few dirtier words exist. Rule makers and promise breakers, I can chose from. That’s where my choice lies if I stay here. My day to day choices move seamlessly between the liars, fuckwits, users and their fan clubs.

Too many of the women I know and the men I know are all dirtbags and bureaucrats in the big smoke. So much tension, so many regulations and rules. I miss the grass roots I came from, where people weren’t afraid to laugh and swear with a policeman about the kids that crashed their bike into the soccer shed. The men who took pride in the little things, the finer things, took pride in a day’s labour for their families, didn’t get caught up in their self righteous, self obsessed, self wank towards a name in lights. Take down as many people as you have to along the way, burn every bridge and hurt every human and animal you need to put a dollar sign in front of your three birth titles. It’s so fucking god damn important that you do exactly what you want to do when you want to do it, and everyone else can get FUCKED.

Right?

Right.