Blurricane Sandy

Everyone is still babbling on about Hurricane Sandy. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying the hurricane wasn't
a terrible 'fuck you' from mother nature but what I AM saying is
that most of you are full of shit. Shit up to your God damn eyeballs. Complete
with a shit grin and you also have a shitty way about you. You do not live in Brooklyn, you do not
live in Washington, Maine, or Jersey Shore. You people just like to hear yourselves talk. You are emotionally effected by
what does not effect you. You have an insatiable need to show people you care by posting Facebook status', by Tweeting and twatting,
and by heralding terms like "Lest we Forget." It is not kindness. You have a deep seeded need for subjective validation
and you are sick. If you do live in those places however, well... Hats off to you
for hanging in there, I guess. The shit, the destruction, the real death is still where it has always been... In our
street's, shopping mall's, bar's, and living room's. I've seen it sleeping next to me and I have shared drinks with it
on numerous occasions. Sometimes it looks like a hurricane. Sometimes it looks like
the face of a newborn baby. A good percentage of the time it looks exactly how you imagined it would. Trashed, broken,
poor, and lost. So... Let me offend you. Just don't worry about it too much. You'll get over it in a day or two just
as you will get over Hurricane Sandy in two months, just as you got over Hurricane Irene, the earthquake in Haiti,
that broken levee in New Orleans, Vietnam, WWI, Occupy, George Bush, Pepsi Blue, and your freedom.
Hurricane Sandy to us, here in Ontario, was nothing more then a sad one night stand. She came at us hard late at night
and when we woke up in empty bed's with empty wallet's in the morning, we were left with no phone number and a mediocre hangover. Oh.. And maybe a tipped over garbage can. But seriously, I'm sure I've had more miserable evenings sitting up
in my bedroom at night, alone. Staring out of the window at all of that boredom and traffic outside, salivating over
the idea of some flood or chaos tossing everyone into a primitive frenzy just to see a little colour in the morning.
If you care so much
then stop
talking to me about it. Grab a big white plastic bucket swim on over to New York City and bilge out those now
flooded subway tunnels. You do not care. You care enough to talk about it and that is as far as you are willing to push it
and talking these days means as much as a hard kick to the balls.
Pain, Puke or Recovery.