May 5, 2020
Today was a long afternoon of immeasurable sadness, for no reason. Happy National Hoagie Day, everyone!
I took my greasy body on a walk with Maude today, and I walked by a house near Oregon Park that I don’t usually pass. Sticking out of a hedged bush was a cardboard sign attached to a pointy-side-up pitchfork. Around the pitchfork was hung a red Christmas ornament the size of a cantaloupe, with little sproingies sticking out of it to make the thing resemble a gargantuan virus. The sign, written in red paint, read as follows:
I think there was an assumed logical operator in there, as in “a vote for Trump = a vote for virus,” or maybe, “if you vote for Trump, then you are voting for Virus.” I don’t know if either proposition is true, unless Trump has chosen an infectious agent of death for his vice-president, which wouldn’t entirely surprise me.
“It’s perfect ,” he’ll say as he waves his palms at America, swirling them in hypnotic circles like stubborn turds circling the drain. “We need a man on the inside on this one, and I’ve been told he’s very good, one of the best, actually.”
Times are hard, but I try to smile every once in a while, like when my lover catches me Googling “parts of a toilet.” I never laughed harder than the day my Dad died, which I do not mean figuratively. I think of all the reactions, it’s good enough for me. I’ll leave you with a quote I found on the Wikipedia page for “Pessimism.”
He who has the courage to laugh is the master of the world, much like him who is prepared to die.
— Giacomo Leopardi
P.S. It’s the first part of the quote that I want to leave you with, that is….