Fellers these days, all manner o' snot-faced good-for-naughts, never opened a book, never volunteered a
thought o’ their own, but know everythin’ is to know ‘bout everythin'.
What never been seen, never has been, goes the thinkin’.
Never mind the visible part of the spectrum is like a mosquito turd on a football field,
never mind nothin’ cause it ain’t a yarn nobody wanna hear. We the only conscious gunners in
the Universe; ain’t nothin’ alive the other side of the Van Allen Radiation
belt; the only livin’ creatures, six billion galaxies and
coutin’. And that's that.
Fine, so far.
But now we have us a problem, ‘cause now, snot-face is goin’ around grantin’ exceptions to high-flown ind’viduals up the peckin’ order. Now we have a high-rise buildin’ in New Amsterdam, buildin’ seven to be particular, hit by nothin’ special, collapsin' at freefall speed – nearly no resistance met – tumblin' straight down at practically the rate of a fallin' apple, the great Laws of Nature and six hundred feet of steel frame and reinforced concrete notwithstandin'. Interestin’ theory. Shame it’s a lotta horse manure.
Back in my time, such a falsehood widely peddled, why a youngster would of risen off his hind-end, dukes up, ready to roust the lyin’ sonofagun. Nowadays, no sir. Self-satisfied snot-faces gripe and jibe astride laptop computers, safely ensconced behind their mouthpiece of choice; there are two kinds: the kind suckin’ on a government nipple, or the kind kissin’ the rump of a large corporation. Take your pick (a few mouthpieces, exc’ptionly agile, bend over backwards and do both).
Here we have snot-face reversin’ the work of the great Laws of Nature, graduatin’ down to superior levels of stupidity: Never seen, never been, become: what I don’t wanna see, just ain’t.
He’ll add crutch on crutch to his theory or argue straw man points (it warn’t exactly freefall), but he won’t look, ‘cause snot-face is too busy tip-toein’ ‘round the Never-To-Be-Uttered keywords from his cherished PC Unabridged, the three-volume lexicon of his invisible masters.
Tread careful snot-face, heaven forbid ridicule should befall you. Worse than gangrene is ridicule to a snot-face. Sooner death take him than suffer a slight from a fellow snot-face – and don’t be misled, these critters come in all colors, shapes and sizes: white, yellow, black, religious, atheist, radical, reactionary, artist, rebel, progressive, punk, liberal, hetero, homo, trans, bi, this, that, the other, it matters not.
A slack-jawed, pencil-necked, pussy-footin’ gatherin’ o’ school girls* is what we have. And I thank the spirit in Man there are still some who just ain’t like that.
For the record, Nikola Tesla was no snot-face.
* No offence meant to those magnificent females forced to sit through a decade of dumbed-down, truth-neutered curricula
