The Bloody Doors Off

I’m not gonna rant about the interpretation of the second amendment or America’s unhealthy fixation on guns. I mourn these children, as does everyone else. But I have an unhealthy fixation. To run to social media. Because I can’t just grieve on my own. I need to be part of the conversation. I need to call out the Alex Jones false flag insurrectionists, thinking that my voice is the one that’s going to make a difference.

And I know I’m going to hear politicians ad nauseum offering their “thoughts and prayers” and “now isn’t the right time to talk gun reform”, and it’ll make me wanna get back on Facebook and spread their horrid, cowardly words to however many friends I have on that site. (And what algorithm is filtering this post and to whom?)

It’s complete and utter bullshit. No one gives a fuck what I think.

No one’s texting me at 3am asking to crack the code of the universe. Or if I’ve seen any really good porn lately. (For the record: I have not.)

And that’s why nothing gets done.

Not that I have any power over this. I’m being metaphoric. The powers that be don’t give a fuck what we think. And as long as people and institutions like the NRA grease their Senator or Congressperson’s palms, they’re gonna continue not caring.

A shame there’s no lobby that would pay Senators and Congresspeople to keep their hands off of women’s bodies.

We’re literally killing the planet, but hey oil makes money so fuck Mother Earth (remember, it’s not consent if she says no at any time).

And don’t forget the guy who decided his country would invade another and if anyone got involved physically, he’ll press a button and end everything everywhere.

We are so fucked.

And I’m sitting at my desk, desperately trying not to crack a joke at this.

If we’re going out, let’s have some fun.