Dog and Cat

If there is anything we can learn from the last year; it is that "Truth" is just another watered down commercial product available from the sidebar of Harpers and at your grocers dairy case. It is a publicly traded commodity bought bulk and repurposed into starchy breakfast foods and movie trailers. It is reluctantly sprinkled into edited and blacked out science textbooks and rationed out like a narcotic spice in expose style of cautious news anchors and others that read at a seventh grade level. It is a cornucopia of buzz words and business slang, meant to engage the public with just enough fervor that they don't piss in their rocking chairs.

Why bother with an antiquated virtue; after all, there are enough truths to go around. The ghost hunters, the prayer medicines and the cult that thinks Jesus spent his missing thirty years hiding dinosaur bones in carefully selected geostrata in preparation for big big cosmic screw you. Truth is the eye of the beholder right, and what a perfect world if everyone had their own coca-cola flavor of reality named after them.

No monopoly in truth, just the human nature to seek it out and pick it apart, right? That's why we keep open minds and wallets when consulting palm readers and always take the path on the outside of the ladder (although strategically sound as well as superstitious).

Reality might play out with the realization that we only want the flavor of truth, minus the calories or responsibility of action. We want a newspaper that can polarize the nature versus nurture "debate" into two disparate sides that are equally preposterous in the inability to conceptualize a network of inputs into behavioral models. We want a right and wrong side of human rights, we want nazi's and talibans, we need nationalism and team jerseys and an impossible amalgam of argumentatively useless counterpoints. We want dogs versus cats, ad infinitum, ad nauseum. We want sitcoms with strong women and dissonant men, and a dance club filled to the brim with the exact opposite; for fairness sake.

Don't think I'm talking down to you Jesus lovers and ghost chasers and self help bookers. I'm talking up to you - like a goddamn adult for a change. I'm snatching away your crayons and your old-wives tales and leaving you naked at the bus stop. We are in this thing together you barrel of cantankerous old biddies and genuflectors, and the bus wheels are being blown out by your lazy driving. I know you have common sense; you have survived decades of these awful places and vacant stares and have come out above the tide.