Which-Hunt?

There’s so much of it going on that it’s impossible to decipher which one is witch and which one is just a distractive ploy to obstruct our view from that which is clear and present.

Truth has been obliterated, whatever that was anyway, replaced by a reality Hunger Games show that displays our species most base level of destructive forces.

The fuck everything up the pole of rancidness is greased oiled and as slippery as a politician’s conference where playing dueling dicks is non-negotiable and penis swordsmanship is the measurement of a successful weekend.

There must be something so very sinister in the human DNA that dictates that we must engage eagerly in the hunt or watch salivating from the sidelines.  It goes way beyond Schadenfreude or Darwinian reality.  It’s a sickness, a cancer that’s destroying not only us but everything else.

The very fact that there is an old man in an oval room with opposing thumbs tapping to the world intelligent expletives that consist of rat, witch-hunt, collusion, hatchet job, haters, losers, lowlife, dog, is bad enough.  The insane factual reality, that his continuance has created a whole new generation and beyond of followers and observers is a mental level of explosive psychotic overflow.

Whichever hunt is on there is an eager audience ready and waiting to pick from a plethora of putrid images.  What it says about us as a collective bunch of biological bilge water is probably fairly obvious, unfortunately.

Bring on the show and watch the world’s dealers in destruction hunt each other down until the biggest dick is left standing.  Then make him swallow his sword.

​Just leave the rest of us alone.