The Way Of The Man

It's getting harder and harder, my friends. It's getting harder to throw my weight up against this particular motherfuckin' wall. Oh, fighting The Man is thankless.

There are Three Ways; The Way Of The Man, The Way Of The Gun, and The Way Of Truth. The Way Of The Man is the cruelest, the most inchoate and avuncular. I don't know what that means.

You see, The Man operates in some tried 'n' true ways, my dear compatriots. There's certain ways that you can find yourself in his scaly clutches, dears. The first way the The Man gets you by the balls is when you procreate. You got kids, my friends, you are beholden to The Man. It's that motherfucking simple. That simple. You gonna walk out of that job where you're insulted and demeaned every time you turn your goddamn back when you got mouths to feed? I don't think so, chumperoo. Th' second you got cute little peepers in the nest, The Man has snuck in the front door and planted his secretly-wearing-women's-panties ass in front of your T.V., big boy. Actually, I take that back, and I arrive, with this backtaking, at the second Way in which The fucking Man sets up camp in your fucking head.

It's that T.V., gang. The Man's home away from home, bud. That motherfucking television. That shit will suck the will out of you faster than a million homeless leeches, bud. Yeah, yeah, you talk about how stupid it is but yer still watching, buddy. You've got Stockholm Syndrome is what you've got pal. You're sympathizing with your captors. Caught yourself laughing at a funny commercial lately? Yeah, you know the one with the baby. The one with the fucking puppy. The one with that bitchin' new piece of shit car and that Stooges song. Yeah, ha ha ha. This Brainfuck Moment Is Brought To You By The Man, motherfucker. Monkey see monkey god damn do, motherfucker. When you laugh at a commercial your shit is going badly south, man. Catch yourself next time, man.

Don't laugh at commercials. DO NOT LAUGH AT THOSE COMMERCIALS. That is like a HUGE deposit in the The Man's private acct. in the Caymans. He rubs his hands together and makes plans to think about it during his next wank so try, try, try to avoid that. Oh, boy.

Oh, it's a tough row to hoe, steering clear of the machinations of The Man. It's a full-time fucking job.

What's next, hmm? What else? Oh- that social security number. They might as well tattoo that shit on your god damn forearm. You got that S.S. number you're pretty much sunk. S.S. indeed. The Man is a Weimeraner and that little fucking number is just a squirt a' piss so's you know whose little bitch you are. Just thought you'd like to know. The Man uses those nine digits to track your ass from the cradle to the god damn grave. The Man knows everything. Oh, it's ugly.

Yeah, you're free. You're free, man. Don't take it from me. You can do anything you want. Just keep telling yourself. Hey, answer me this, Sir Walter Fuckin' Raleigh- you're so free, what're you gonna do tonight to celebrate your freedom, huh? What are you going to do tonight? You gonna dance naked in the moonlight? You gonna hop in a boxcar and head for the High fucking Desert, huh? No, you're not, bub.

You're going to pay taxes on everything you're foolish enough to own and watch your little puppies suck you dry and then you're going to watch that fucking show with fucking Jerry Hall about that crap going down. Oh, god damn it hurts. It hurts me physically, gives me cramps, to watch it happen. It's happening to all our best and brightest. You know what they're going to do? Do you know what God's Plan is for you?

They're going to harvest your organs, Einstein. That's what it's all coming to. The Man is going to sweep you up like a hairball and disassemble you and put your shit in like Rupert Murdoch and that shit. Can't you fucking see? Can't you put two and two together? Do I have to do all the heavy mental lifting here? Am I all alone out here in Truthland????? Huh????? Fuck!

You're gonna be in a box before too long, pally. Plenty of freedom in that pine fucking box. Especially if you're not sporting any emabarrassing organs. And when the skin rots off your forearm you won't be wearing an SS tattoo anymore. Bring it on. Bring it the fuck on.

No one taxes you when you're dust. No one fucks with you when you're dust. No one reminds you how ugly and sexless and fat and powerless and old and boring you are when you're dust, dog.

That's when you're free, dog. That's when The Man releases his stranglehold on your fucking root, dog.

Happy viewing, dog.

Appendix A: These Are The Tools The Man Uses To Liquify Your Will To Rock:

1. All television shows. ALL TELEVISION SHOWS.

2. The booze. The booze and the cigarettes, my friends. I'm sorry, ain't a man immune among us, to quote somebody. You might want to consider using something The Man doesn't have his pudgy little fingers in to Soften The Blow. Use your imagination. If you have a garden you know what to do.

3. All vehicles. The higher the miles, the less Man is in them. He's gone from your stupid vehicle when it hits 200,000. Then it's The Man-free.

4. Anyone who does not encourage the youth to READ. Every time you read a book you strike a blow against the man. Except for:

5. Those fucking Henny Potter books. Jesus. Who the fuck gets laid in THOSE? HUH? Who fucking smokes opium in THOSE? Sedating our kids with wizards and fast food tie-ins. Who are these people that watch us in the night?

6. "Indie Rock"- at least that execrable porno on VH1 doesn't pretend it isn't born of The Man's oily, wrinkled loins. These fuckin' wankstains like what's his name Conner Everwurst? Ha. That fucking guy. Give me a break. ANYBODY could kick that guy's ass. I don't think a performer has to be a hard ass, but there should ideally be someone in the audience you could take if chairs flew, you know? And what's this gayass "swept forward" hairstyle now like that band Lightswitch? It's kind of Neuvo-70's-Homosexual. Fuckin' Lightswitch. Or Switchfoot I mean.

7. Anyone who says "I'm all about...(lame fucking pop culture crap or cell phone brand here)..." Saying "I'm all about..." is the Man Phrase Of The Week. Saying "I'm all about..." means you watch T.V. and if you do that you're already poisoned. You're done. When you buy certain brands and you don't even know why?

That's standing in The Man's shadow right there, laddybuck.

NEXT TIME: INJUSTICE IS FUCKED UP.